


a huckleberry's game

by jenhyung



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 54,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhyung/pseuds/jenhyung
Summary: Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it;
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno
Comments: 113
Kudos: 689
Collections: ’00 FIC FEST: ROUND ONE





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt #0080** : Being an assassin was easy for Jeno. He was trained to show no mercy and he had learnt that feeling guilty would only interfere with his job. It had been long since Jeno had found any trouble in pulling the trigger, so why was it so hard for him to kill his neighbor, Huang Renjun?
> 
>  **Additional Tags** : Slow burn, feelings realization, character study, making out
> 
>  **Minor Pairings** : Minor Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong, Minor Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Park Jisung/Zhong Chenle, Minor Na Jaemin/Mark Lee | Lee Minhyung, Minor Johnny Suh | Seo Youngho/Jung Yoonoh | Jung Jaehyun

**1.**

There are no clouds in the sky tonight. The streetlights get progressively dimmer as he goes, the concrete pavement losing its warmness. Whether or not it’s a trick of the moonlight, it doesn’t matter for now. Around him, everything moves slower than he does, passersby overtaken by his long strides. He doesn’t excuse himself, lips pressed together tight, fluently slipping through the cracks.

“Red brick on your left.”

Jeno doesn’t slow in his gait, doesn’t even pause to look at the building, heading straight for it. Hesitance, no matter how slight, is always a dead giveaway. He is light on his feet in spite of the combat boots, taking the stone stairs leading up to the double oak doors two at a time.

His hand lifts just as the voice in his ear says, “Twenty-four, sixty-three.”

He punches that into the number keypad lock, the metal cool under his thin gloves. It’s one of the Agency’s latest creations, meant really for security, not warmth; a cotton-lycra blend providing anonymity and enough freedom of movement to allow dexterity when needed. Jeno isn’t too impressed by it, but then again–his job description doesn’t really entail much other than pulling the trigger.

“Sixth floor. Stairs on your right.”

Inwardly, Jeno groans.

He takes them two at a time again anyway, swinging his arms to bring up that momentum. Thankfully, he doesn’t run into any meddling teenagers fooling around in the stairwell, and the sixth floor comes after seventy-two steps–he counts. He pushes the door open lightly, breathing harshly through his nose.

“6B. Left.”

The hallway, unexpectedly, is brightly lit. Its walls are an ugly green, disgusting almost, mold growing at the bottom where the rubber runs. He ignores it, eyes flashing at the consecutive letters on the withering hardwood doors.

_6H. 6G. 6F._

“Movement.”

Jeno keeps walking.

The door to 6D opens and Jeno doesn’t expect it, but it doesn’t take him by surprise either. It’s hard to be surprised when he’s constantly waiting for something to jump out at him. He slows down and steps out of the way to let the elderly lady pass him. She thanks him and Jeno returns a courteous smile.

He keeps walking on down the hall, slow this time. The elevator dings just as Jeno approaches 6B. He waits until the doors slide shut before placing his hand on the knob.

A two second buffer, “Clear.”

The apartment is stale. His nose twitches at the smell of week-old food and some blend of rat crap and foul cheese. Nevertheless, he searches the one-bedroom apartment swiftly, checks the bathroom and closet, behind the curtains and under the bed. He returns to the main living area–though it hasn’t seemed lived in, or maybe _too_ lived in; stacks of papers and pillows on the floor, dirty plates and mugs scattered on every surface, wadded up tissues shoved into the couch creases.

The place meant for one feels like it’s housed a thousand pigs. 

He settles to wait by the kitchen window.

It’s enough of a vantage point for the street outside, and it’s where the moonlight is steadily dripping in. He steps an inch to the left from the light, shrouding himself in the shadows.

“Five.”

Waiting, to Jeno, has always been the hardest. It by no means reflected impatience on his part, but it was more like–a bubble of nerves in his chest. If he waited too long in the quiet, it’d fizz and fizz and fizz, crawling up his throat, begging for release.

Tonight, he ignores the fizz, preoccupied instead with the slow drip of water from the closed tap.

“Three.”

He wonders if he should get pizza later. Or maybe some fried _chow mein_. He hasn’t had that recently; Doyoung says the oil content is enough to power a car and Jeno thinks maybe he could run as fast as a car if he ate enough _chow mein_. Doyoung disagrees.

“Two.”

The thoughts disappear then. It’s almost automatic now. Jeno’s mind clears into plain static, and everything else in the room is instantly brighter, clearer, even the things in the shadows. He reaches for the suppressor fit snug in the holster strapped to his waist, barely covered by his turtleneck sweater.

“One.”

And sixty seconds is a long time. Jeno pulls the Agency-assigned gun–the PHK 194–from the same holster, palm-print encoded, attaching the suppressor on with ease. It fits without a sound, but Jeno feels the click in his hands. There’s another forty seconds, he reckons. He counts down from ten, and at zero, he readies the gun. A soft whirr emits when the microdermal sensors read his palm, three dots of a faint blue light lining the barrel.

Now that, in the silence, is deafening, but Jeno doesn’t mind it.

Ten.

Or so.

He reaches to his side and closes the water tap tightly. Not for anything.

The door knob turns.

Jeno moves. Though, it’s almost like he hasn’t. There’s no sound from the floorboards, no sound from his boots. Other than the sight of him physically crossing the kitchen, there’s no indication of any disruption to the air, no movement whatsoever. Jeno’s good at that–moving without a sound.

A stream of light from the hallway leaks into the apartment; Jeno stays in the shadows. Grocery, he assumes, are dumped roughly to the ground and there’s the jingling of keys. A foreign language is being spoken, probably into a phone, so Jeno takes two steps back into the kitchen, waiting.

The phone call ends in the minute after, and the door is shut.

A switch is flipped and artificial light floods the apartment.

Jeno raises the PHK, preparing for contact. It takes a little longer than it usually does, but a middle-aged man eventually rounds the corner. In that same second, Jeno picks apart his target’s disguise (an abundance of facial hair, a pair of non-prescription frames perched on an awkward lump of a nose). It’s an exact match to the profile he’d spent the past week familiarizing himself with–money laundering, human trafficking, an Agency-identified threat to national security.

Jeno rests his forefinger gently on the trigger.

Groceries are dropped to the floor once more, hands raised in the air.

“Wait.”

Jeno waits for the command. He steps forward when the target starts to backpedal, eyes wide in frenzy. They adjourn in the main section of the apartment and Jeno meets again with the ridiculously disordered mess.

“I have money.” The words barely register to Jeno. He says nothing; he’s not allowed to speak. The man starts to hyperventilate, understanding his demise, “I have everything! I’ll give you anything you want!”

In his ear, the cool voice returns, “Disregard.” Then, “M command: Fire, Agent.”

Jeno kicks the throw pillow resting by the tip of his left foot. The target looks down at the sudden movement, and in that snap distraction, Jeno pulls the trigger. The body falls, a resounding thud sealing the deal, and the target’s head falls right onto the pillow–saving the extraction team the extra clean-up of splattered brain.

“Report.”

Jeno waits and checks for a sign of life. When there is none, he detaches the suppressor and tucks it away, gun along with it. The fizz disappears from his chest and the calmness returns. He lifts a hand to the earpiece, “Target eliminated.”

“Received. Extraction in two.” Then, “Are you coming over for dinner tonight?”

Jeno rolls his eyes. He returns to the kitchen and fits easily through the opened window, having thought of his way out earlier. The fire escape is about as sturdy as a fire escape could be, and heights aren’t exactly a fear of Jeno’s. Swiftly, he climbs down the steel ladder, careful of the slippery rungs.

Passing by warm homes and families lounging in front of televisions, he turns his head away to hurry down the side of the building.

“Well?”

“This line is meant for Contract information only.”

The voice of the line sighs, “Alright, fine. Are you coming over for dinner tonight, Seven?”

Jeno hops off the last rung, immediately finding his place in the shadows once more. Smoothly, he slides himself back to reality, joining the streets with practiced ease. He follows his gut and goes right.

“You’re going in the wrong direction.”

Jeno slows in his step when he reaches the corner, lifting his eyes to the street names, white against blue. He parts his lips in amusement, scratches the back of his neck, then turns back towards where he’d come from.

An act on the off chance he’s being followed.

The red brick building comes into view again, and Jeno doesn’t give it a second glance. Two figures in janitor outfits pass him to head up the stone stairs, carrying with them an array of janitorial materials.

_Clean-up._

“We’re ordering pizza,” the voice says, brightly now.

Jeno shakes his head at it, in disbelief that it belongs to the very same boy that gave him an order to pull a trigger not more than five minutes ago. He’s been working with Chenle for two months at this point, but it still surprises Jeno nonetheless.

“Pepperoni,” Chenle says fondly. Jeno knows Chenle is still tracking him through the thermal satellites and sensors, “And maybe a few other flavors, I don’t know. Are you coming over or not?”

Jeno looks to the sky. Cloudless, still.

Empty.

He spots the entrance to the metro.

“Sorry, Z. Not tonight.”

Chenle sighs loudly, displeased.

—

The Agency, as all other intelligence agencies are, was built underground. Its primary entrance is through a nondescript lobby of a skyscraper in the heart of the city, where two lifts are hidden behind the main atrium. It works only via retinal and microdermal sensors, bringing Agents down fifty floors beneath ground level. After the thirty second ride, the lift doors will slide open to reveal first a long tunnel stretched for as far as a football field.

It’s the mouth to the Labyrinth–that’s what he’s told they call it–and it’s the start to an eight-minute stroll to the heart of the Agency. There are no patterns, no directions, no indication, and no secret codes of any such. Just white tiles for what could feel like miles, kept gleaming to a pristine condition.

It’s thanks to the winding loops and maze of a route that hides the exact location of the Agency. Even at the end of it, another set of sensors are hidden in the tiles on the left of the tunnel, and only after _that_ are the bulletproof glass doors revealed.

At a jog, the Labyrinth takes three minutes to maneuver.

At a sprint, Jeno takes one.

“Good evening.”

Jeno nods curtly to the receptionist by the front desk. She pushes her palm forward and Jeno drops his ID badge into it. It’s fashioned to look like a regular driver’s license; Jeno carried it around on the back of his phone, overt. She scans it under the desk, the pleasant _beep_ signaling the authenticity of his person.

“Welcome home, UA Seven.”

Jeno retrieves his ID and slides it back into its slot, nodding again.

Briskly, he crosses the main chamber. It branches out into three archways. Jeno takes the one on the left, stride lengthening with each foot forward. Offices start to roll by then, a handful of them lining the hallway as it continues to lead further into the Agency. Most of the offices have frosted glass high above, and all Jeno can make out is silhouettes of suit and ties when he passes.

It’s not until the end that he reaches another dome-like chamber, opening up to overlook a giant room below designed like a workshop.

From over the black railings, Jeno notes the handful of employees still working on the floor; gadgets laid out across long, white benches, target-shooting ranges on the far right corner, rubber mannequins on the left. There’s only quiet chatter as the scientists in white lab coats worked, punctured only by sharp _pop_ s of a gun being fired off every now and then.

“Seven.”

Jeno turns, standing a little straighter.

“No need to be so formal, it’s after hours, isn’t it?”

Jeno doesn’t crack a smile. The Agency never rests, there isn’t such a concept as after hours.

“Boy, tough crowd.”

“Long day,” Jeno says, somewhat apologetically. He glances around, “Where is SA Kim?”

“In his office.”

Jeno thanks UA Six and takes the stairs down to the workroom. He walks along the walls, out of anyone’s line of sight, heads towards a room he’s only ever been to at the ends of Contracts and Evaluations. He raises a closed fist over the steel door, and before his knuckles can rap against it,

“Come in.”

_Of course._

Jeno forgoes knocking–for what would be the point now–and enters with a quick bow, “SA Kim.”

“It’s after hours, Jeno.”

Jeno lets his shoulders drop. He shuts the door and approaches the giant wooden desk, taking one of the two pleather seats. Across it, SA Kim settles back into his own chair, resting his clasped hands on his lap.

Black hair with soft curls, neatly pressed white shirt, full Windsor knotted black tie. Special Agent Kim Doyoung, Jeno’s Mentor and direct supervisor, has always been the perfect poster boy for the Agency. Tonight, however, the dark shadows under his eyes and the sunken dips on his cheeks are obvious enough signs to how he’s been kept up at the Agency lately, tarnishing his prime and perfect image.

Jeno isn’t too amused by it–he’s seen Doyoung through worse days.

“Hyung.”

Doyoung nods, then sits up to flick through a stack of files on his desk. He grumbles lowly about efficiency and going paperless and being environmentally friendly before finding the right file.

On the side of it, Jeno catches his title.

_Unofficial Agent Seven LEE Jeno, Execution_

“Contract 71b.”

Jeno lifts his eyes to see Doyoung already staring at him. “It was fine,” he says. “Easy in, easy out.”

“Good.” Doyoung reaches for a pen in the penholder and scribbles on the file, signing off at the bottom, “No complications?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Doyoung shuts the file and sets it on another towering stack on the floor. He stands and stretches his arms over his head, yawning widely. For a second, he seems to consider rearranging his files into a more organized tower, but waves it off dismissively.

Jeno says a quiet prayer for Doyoung’s personal assistant.

“Have you eaten?” Doyoung cracks his neck, drawing the tension from his body.

Jeno shakes his head, watches Doyoung start to neaten up his table.

Around his trim waist is the same holster Jeno has strapped to himself, but in a smaller pocket beside the gun is a hand knife–Doyoung’s pièce de résistance. Jeno still flinches at the sight of that silver grip; as part of his combat training, Jeno had been assigned to Doyoung, the lucky one out of five other Special Agents. The assignment had made Jeno nervous in the days leading up to the first session with his new Mentor, and it was nerves well warranted.

All the rumors Jeno were fed were true; Kim Doyoung was a menace to train under. During his first sparring session, Jeno’d kissed the foam mat more than he’d ever admit. By the end of it, his cheeks were an angry pink, his shoulders and elbows were bruised carrying most of the impact from all his falls, his back and knees aching in a way he never thought they could ache.

“Good,” Doyoung had said.

Jeno’s come to learn that Doyoung’s appraisals are delivered in that single word, _Good_. Silence otherwise meant, _Do it again, What the hell was that?_ and _Are you kidding me?_

Falling, however, was barely the tip of the iceberg.

At that point, Jeno hadn’t thought himself to be terrible at combat. He’d beat out his peers countless of times, dodged and threw enough of his own punches to remain victorious at the end of every match. Based off sheer strength alone, he could probably beat Doyoung, no competition.

But Doyoung had said, “Strength is nothing without timing.” He had Jeno pinned face-down to the mat, knee firmly between Jeno’s shoulder blades, “You need instinct and you need to be quick, Seven.”

If Jeno crosses the Labyrinth in sixty seconds, Kim Doyoung does it in thirty.

He’s clever and sly, agile and without fail, constantly three steps ahead of Jeno. How he does it, Jeno didn’t know, he still doesn’t. Doyoung didn’t move much either, no, he’s just so _quick_. Jeno couldn’t block any of Doyoung’s attacks, couldn’t defend himself from the swipes of Doyoung’s hand knife. It’s only thanks to the Agency’s protective gear that he isn’t all marked up along the arms; Doyoung never nicked him in places that weren’t covered in armor.

By the third week, Jeno had improved. He was starting to predict Doyoung’s attacks, to register whenever he saw that glint of silver raised high, to jump away when Doyoung made a move to kick the dummy gun from his hands.

So, naturally–Doyoung had him spar with ankle weights on.

It was a long journey, but Jeno made it and he’s proud of not failing out. He’s quicker on his feet now, faster, stronger. His reflexes have improved, his senses heightened, his focus strengthened.

“Not many people make it under SA Kim.”

Jeno knows this. Graduating from his Training Agent status to an Unofficial Agent had been news that shocked the other Agents, Jeno himself included. No one wanted to be mentored by Kim Doyoung because no one had ever passed his stringent conditions or his high expectations.

It’d given Jeno a newfound fondness and attachment to Kim Doyoung. His once hatred-filled heart for their trainings soon turned into the best part about the Agency and no one could ever understand why. Jeno held a high regard for him, in his heart, even going so far as to pick the same specialization Doyoung served in.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” Doyoung asks now. Jeno smiles at the invitation; it isn’t often Doyoung shows his affection, but it’s off small things like these that Jeno really feels the honorary title of being Doyoung’s favorite apprentice.

“Would I be intruding?”

Doyoung shrugs his jacket on, dusts at the sleeves, “Yes.” Straightforward as always. He collects his phone and ID badge from the small, ceramic bowl on the left of his desk and Jeno stands to meet him when he rounds the corner, “But I’m sure you’ll be welcomed.”

Doyoung opens the door for him, “Thank you.” They start down the hallway, “But I think I’ll have dinner at home.”

“You don’t cook.”

“Neither do you.”

“And yet I have food waiting for me.” Doyoung’s legs are long and so are his strides. Jeno’s used to it by now, though he once was painfully constantly half a step slower than the senior agent, “Don’t compromise your diet.”

Which is Doyoung-speak for, _Make sure you take care of yourself._

“I’ll figure something out,” Jeno tells him.

Doyoung casts him a glance, “You’ll be alright alone?”

“Yes.” Jeno understands where the concern is coming from; his first Contract had gone well, but pulling the trigger hadn’t always been as easy as it is now. It’s been more than a year since then, but Doyoung still hasn’t allowed him to forget it–refuses to.

Firmly this time, “I’m fine.”

“Good.” They return to the main atrium, to the front desk. Their ID cards are slid over the counter. Doyoung turns to him, “Are you coming in tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a Saturday.”

Jeno takes his ID from the receptionist, “I have paperwork to clear.”

Doyoung tuts, “We’re overworking all of you.”

When Doyoung flips his bifold wallet open, he catches sight of an old polaroid kept neatly in one of the card slots. He clears his throat, “Aren’t you coming in tomorrow too?”

Doyoung nods, then sighs, “We’re overworking me too.”

—

Jeno gets _chow mein_ for dinner. He tells Doyoung he’ll settle for a salad, but the tantalizing smell of fried noodle and pork strips are his weakness, so he caves. He orders two servings to go–that’ll last him more than three days, if he didn’t have it all tonight–and carries them like precious gold the entire way home.

Home is an apartment building not far from the Agency. It’s a little outside the city center, which means quiet streets and dark alleys, but Jeno likes it. After living with thirty-five other TAs in the Agency’s quarters, a studio apartment on the fifth floor of a pleasant building is a gift.

The lobby is a small one. An elderly man sits at the front, and he smiled when Jeno walks in, “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Mr. Kim.” Jeno pulls out the herbal tea drink that’d come with his _chow mein_ , “For the long night ahead.”

Mr. Kim chuckles, taking the drink and shaking his head, “Always the nicest boy, aren’t you, Jeno?”

Jeno smiles and says nothing more. He wonders what Mr. Kim would think if he knew how Jeno’d just put a bullet to another man’s head not two hours ago.

Granted, it was a man that posed threat to the nation.

Still.

“Have a good night, Jeno!”

“You too, sir.”

The lift is small and Jeno’s elbows are bumping against the walls of the ridiculous confined area, trying to push the right button to _five._ He manages it with terrible effort and exhales loudly when the doors start to slide shut.

“Wait!” Jeno opens his eyes. He didn’t know they’d been closed, “Wait wait _wait_! Please wait!”

On instinct, he shoves a foot forward to stop the doors from closing. It’s not too hard of a pressure–his boots are meant for much worse–and the doors jiggle before sliding open again.

“Thank you, thank you!”

A boy hurries into the elevator then. In his thin arms is a cardboard box and inside it, Jeno peeks, is a couple of textbooks, an alarm clock, a pen case and a small potted plant. The leaves stick out at all angles, covers half the boy’s face as he stumbles into the tiny space.

“Thank you,” he says. This time he turns to Jeno, and a leaf slides into his open mouth. His cheeks flush red immediately, spluttering and looking absolutely _panicked_ when he looks back at Jeno again. He blinks, “Thank you.”

Jeno nods, “It’s fine.”

The boy huffs, still clearly trying to gather his bearings. He rests the heavy box on his hip and tries to make his way to the button panel without everything toppling to the ground. His hands flail around, and he groans quietly under his breath.

Jeno shifts to carry his _chow mein_ on one arm, “Which floor?”

“Oh.” The boy breathes a sigh of relief, readjusting his grip on the box, “Fifth, please.”

“It’s already lit up.”

The boy stares at it, “Right.”

They return to an awkward, palpable silence. The boy stands as far away from Jeno as possible, nose nearly pressed against the lift doors. The back of his neck darkens vermillion with every floor they pass.

Jeno scrunches his nose and thinks not too much of it.

Once they arrive on the fifth, the boy is hurrying off again. Jeno goes–plainly because he has to in the same direction–slightly amused by how significantly wider the box is against the boy’s petite frame. He slows in his step to watch his new neighbor–for Jeno has done a mandatory background check on every tenant of his building and he’s never seen this boy on any file–fumble to find his apartment.

Finally, he jerks to a stop at the end of the hall.

_502._

Right across Jeno’s apartment.

He doesn’t know how to feel or think about this because the boy is grumbling again to himself, struggling terribly with his box. Jeno waits, stumped as the boy tries to lean the box against the wall to free a hand.

Jeno moves to enter his own apartment–key having been at the ready in his hand since he left the restaurant–and it’s his neighbor’s quiet groan that makes him stop. He places his precious _chow mein_ on the ground, turns to step back out into the hall.

“Do you need a hand with that?”

The boy looks up, pupils _dark._ They constrict under the hallway light. He hesitates, nodding only when the box slides further down the wall. Jeno takes it from him, the box unexpectedly lighter than it seems. The boy fishes his keys from his pocket, a small keychain holding them together. Jeno can’t make out what it is, but it seems to be an animated character of some sort.

He pushes the door open and holds it there with his foot, turning back to Jeno with a half-smile, “Thanks.”

Jeno hands him the box, “That’s alright.”

“Have a good night.”

Jeno nods, retreats back into his apartment. He leans against the door once it’s shut, staring into his empty home. His eyes take a couple of seconds to register the form of his bed, his desk. There’s only so much a studio can fit, but it’s fine. It fits all that’s necessary. Jeno included.

He thinks of getting a pet sometimes. Another living soul–human or not–in the apartment might make it less desolate of a place to call a home. But filing for an Agency-approved pet would take weeks, and while he could simply adopt one secretly, he’d really be looking at the end of the barrel if Doyoung were to catch wind of it.

As the only UA under Doyoung, the spotlight never really leaves Jeno at the Agency.

He picks the _chow mein_ up and makes a mental note to make a report of this new neighbor to Human Resources tomorrow.

—

“Hello.”

Jeno straightens from where he’d been shoving his foot into his sneakers. Off-field days meant casual wear. Over skin-tight shirts and tights, Jeno preferred being in comfy sweaters and jeans–it made him less like an Agent and more like he belonged walking on the streets just like everyone else.

Across him stands his new neighbor from last night. His door left ajar, and while the gap isn’t too wide, Jeno still notes the cartoon-printed pajama shorts and the loose-fitting shirt he’s in. He averts his eyes from his neighbor’s bare legs.

“Good morning.”

Jeno nods, “Morning.”

“Sorry, I–” The boy slides further out into the hall, and Jeno wills his eyes not to wander. It’s not polite to stare and it sure isn’t polite to gape, “I heard you leaving, and I–wanted to thank you again for yesterday.”

Jeno feels his head tilt, just slight of a fraction, a subconscious reaction. He wasn’t aware he was making any noise.

The boy shrinks under the silence, “I mean, not that I was _listening_ for you, I mean–I just–didn’t know when I’d see you again.”

Jeno releases the tension in his shoulders, “That’s okay.” He steps out to meet the boy halfway, “It was nothing.” And like an afterthought, “Welcome to the building.”

“Injun,” the boy pipes up. His cheeks tint pink again, and Jeno wonders if that’s just a natural occurrence that comes easy to his new neighbor, “Me, I mean. That’s me–I’m Injun. Hwang Injun.”

Jeno’s lips twitch at the corners, a sort of mirth bubbling in his chest from how endearingly innocuous Injun is. He clears his throat and sticks a hand out, “Jeno.”

Injun’s hand is small in his and the touch is cool. He smiles, reaching his eyes, “It’s nice to meet you, Jeno.” He pulls his hand away and Jeno lets his own drop, “May I–how–how old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

Injun’s eyes go round, “So am I. March.”

“April.” Jeno tries not to let any of his surprise through. A boy as tiny as him can’t be of the same age, can he? He’s almost half a head shorter than Jeno. He nods, “That’s _hyung_ to you then.”

“Oh, we don’t have to–you know,” Injun’s hands flutter about. “Formalities and all that, it’s okay! I–I’ll–see you around?”

Jeno notices a mole near the base of Injun’s neck.

“See you around, Injun hyung.”

—

“We missed you at dinner last night.”

Jeno blinks. He hadn’t seen Donghyuck walk up to him, “I was on a Contract”

Donghyuck snorts, “I know. Chenle was your Handler again, wasn’t he?” He follows when Jeno passes the reception desk, shoes clacking noisily against marble. How he performed in the field, Jeno doesn’t know–for all Unofficial Agent missions are solos–but he doubts Donghyuck walked like this while on Contract, “Didn’t he invite you over?”

“He did,” Jeno reassures. They take the route to another department hidden further in the Agency, “I just didn’t feel like having dinner out.”

“Lies,” Donghyuck hums. He presses his palm to the reader and the walls split to reveal the UAs’ Main Office.

It’s blocks of ten cubicles in two rows, assigned to each UA according to their agent number. Jeno being one of ten UAs from his year; number seven, exactly. Every UA gets a standard issue Agency-approved MacBook and a mug with the Agency logo on it. Doyoung says it’s a sorry attempt at community development but Jeno thinks it’s nice. That way, he doesn’t have to buy any extra mugs for work.

Donghyuck tosses the files in his arms onto his desk, trails after Jeno to desk seven, “I smell fried noodles on you.”

Jeno shoots him a look, “Are you saying I smell?”

Donghyuck nods, “Disgusting, really.”

Jeno ignores it and settles into his seat, groaning when Donghyuck moves to sit on his desk, effectively ceasing productivity. He tries to reach for the files behind Donghyuck but the boy leans back, still waiting on a valid reason for skipping out on dinner.

“I was busy.”

Donghyuck folds his arms across his chest, “What with?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno sighs. “Catching up on sleep, watching TV, reading a book, planting a beanstalk–”

“You _read_?”

Jeno glares at him, matches the tone, “I _read_.” He swats at Donghyuck’s hip and grabs the files roughly, “Why’re you bothering me, Hyuck, don’t you have work to do?”

“I do.” Donghyuck makes no move to leave, instead moving to rest his foot on armrests of Jeno’s chair. Jeno shoves them off roughly with an elbow, to which Donghyuck whines. He kicks Jeno’s chair in retaliation, “You’re in a terrible mood today.”

“I am not.” Jeno flicks open the case file, “I just–want to get this done.”

“You haven’t been over in a long time.” Donghyuck purses his lips, “What are you hiding?”

Jeno deflates. He clearly isn’t going to get any work done if Donghyuck insists on gracing him with his presence, “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Is it your last Contract?” Donghyuck probes, “Did you do something wrong? Bump into a witness? Accidentally left a print? Eliminate the wrong target?”

Jeno clicks the pen in his hand, “I’m disappointed you have such little faith in me.” He clicks it again, “I’m just thinking about my next Contract, Hyuck, don’t worry about it.”

Donghyuck takes the bait, “That’s not for a while, isn’t it?” He leans against the walls of Jeno’s cubicle, plucking out a pin pushed into the foam, “Besides, haven’t your other Contracts gone splendid?”

Jeno snorts, “You can’t mess up a Contract.”

Donghyuck sits up, “Don’t let Nine hear you say that.”

“That’s different,” Jeno says. He twirls the pen in his fingers, “Jaemin’s under a different specialization. And since when did you decide to stop pretending Jaemin doesn’t exist?”

“He’s the worst so yes, I’m still ignoring Na Jaemin, don’t you worry about that,” Donghyuck scoffs, “And I suppose you think Execution’s far easier than Intelligence?”

“Fancy term for a spy.”

“Fancy term for a murder.”

Jeno raises a brow, “Haven’t we agreed we aren’t murderers?”

“A life taken is a life lost.” Donghyuck’s hand goes to hover over his torso; Jeno knows that’s where his own gun lies, “We just murder in good conscience.”

Jeno tosses the pen into pen holder, a clean shot.

“Don’t suppose we’ll be doing this for the rest of our lives, hey.”

Jeno considers it, “We might if we graduate.”

Donghyuck sighs, “What a pain.” He pokes Jeno’s elbow with his foot, “At least have lunch with me today–I actually miss hanging out with you.”

“I see you every day.”

“Correction: you see me in _training_ every day.” Donghyuck hops off the desk, landing near silently on his feet. Jeno’s gaze darts down, masking his reverence. “I’d like to have a proper conversation with my best friend. You know, in a proper restaurant and not when I’m trying to dodge paintball pellets aimed for my forehead.”

Jeno relents, never one to say no to good lunch anyway, “What about Jaemin?”

“What about him?” Donghyuck sniffs primly, “Nothing’s changed, Jeno–I’m not talking to him until he apologizes.”

“He’s not going to apologize,” Jeno says. Donghyuck pretends as if he’d never spoken, starts to walk away, “The quicker you get over it, the quicker we can all have lunch together again!” but the younger boy doesn’t acknowledge him in the slightest, pace picking up as he leaves the UAs’ office.

Jeno breathes a sigh of relief, soothed by the silence.

Lee Donghyuck. Unofficial Agent 2. Best friend.

They’ve been best friends since long before Jeno can remember, which isn’t saying anything because he barely remembers life before the Agency. It just so happens that one of his earliest memories is of meeting Donghyuck in the bathroom on the first day of their physical examination. Donghyuck had been washing his hands and Jeno had walked in, stopping by the door. Immediately, he’d sensed the hostility.

“You’re Lee Jeno.”

Jeno hadn’t thought to be recognized.

“I heard the Mothers talking about you. Said your physical was the best this year.” Donghyuck had dried his hands on the back of his shirt, sticking a damp hand out for Jeno to take, “We should be friends.”

Jeno took the hand, accepted the friendship. Then, he hadn’t known if he _wanted_ to be Donghyuck’s friend–the boy seemed to be more interested in ranks and competition more than anything. It was after weeks of training did he realize how much stronger, how much quicker Donghyuck’d been–he’d botched his own physical on purpose, to sought out who’d be second best to him.

It was artful and Jeno respected it.

After they’d both graduated to UA status, the competition abated into something healthier and Jeno found himself relying on Donghyuck in more ways than one. Unlike Jaemin, who’d gone to specialize in Intelligence, both Jeno and Donghyuck had undertaken the Execution specialization, which meant more time spent together as a duo.

It was comfortable and natural and so _easy_ for Jeno to depend on Donghyuck, who by his very essence, was and still is a very dependable character.

It’s only recent that a sense of bitterness began to grow.

One day, not too long ago, it’d all gone to dust; he remembered the first time Donghyuck gushed over one of the new Training Agents. It’d taken Jeno a full minute to even register what was happening. He didn’t think Agents were supposed to have _feelings_ , much less be enamored by new Agents.

“You’re an idiot,” Donghyuck had told him, eyes still glued on the boy a full head taller than the other newbies, “We aren’t robots, Jen. We’re allowed to have feelings.”

And if Jeno were honest, he wondered if it was jealousy. He wondered if he were jealous his best friend’s time was so suddenly taken from him, if he were jealous his best friend’s affection no longer focused on him, if he were jealous his best friend didn’t depend on him as much as Jeno did on Donghyuck.

He remembers when it used to be just him and Donghyuck; late-night snacks by the river after a long day of training, sneaking glances at one another during official meetings and praying the other doesn’t get caught, walking back to the TA quarters after an evening run of trying to best each other’s timings.

The more he mulled over it, the more he believed it wasn’t so. He didn’t have any romantic inclinations towards Donghyuck, didn’t wish any ill on the boys Donghyuck did have his attention on, didn’t have any thoughts of, _That should be me._

It was envy.

He was envious Donghyuck had someone to fawn over, envious Donghyuck had someone to look forward to seeing every day, envious Donghyuck had– _that_ sort of companionship. He didn’t want his best friend. He wanted not to be lonely–the feeling of whatever it is they felt, wanted to know what it felt like to be _part_ of it, but the idea of it feels so out of reach to him.

Jeno had to get used to the concept of seeing Donghyuck with Park Jisung, had to get used to the fact that Donghyuck had managed to create a home for himself, despite the Agency’s rules and the rigid lives they all led. It was barely past a month they’d gotten together that a _third_ had entered their relationship of two and Jeno was positive he was losing his mind.

Through loopholes and enough pestering towards his own Mentor, SA Jeon Wonwoo, Donghyuck’d managed to acquire a two-bedroom Agency-approved apartment not far from Jeno’s place. In it houses Donghyuck, Off-Field Agent Zhong Chenle, and Training Agent Park Jisung, which meant a house full of life and, expectedly, an abundance of love.

In any case, it’s a plethora of thoughts and emotions that will plague Jeno for days after visiting their nest of love and happiness; it’s only easier on his heart and mind if he didn’t spend too much time around three of the happiest Agents in the Agency. As much as he enjoyed seeing Chenle and Jisung–who he doesn’t get to meet often due to their different status and specializations–some time away from their joyfulness is much needed to keep Jeno’s sanity.

—

The process is simple, in theory; Training Agents (TA) enter at sixteen, scouted specially by the Agency. More specifically, the Seoul Agency located in South Korea’s capital; Contracts cover all neighborhoods in their jurisdiction and certain islands surrounding the mainland.

Following the initial evaluation, successful candidates are trained hard for the first year–basic physical fitness, hand-to-hand combat, improvised weaponry, airborne training, language skills, in-field simulations–everything that could possibly happen–trained for.

Qualified TAs are then granted access out onto field missions for their second year, most of which are to gather data or to provide backup within a team. At the end of the TAs’ second year, another evaluation is set.

Competent TAs proceed on to earn the title of an Unofficial Agent (UA).

The Agency is split into four major directorates: Administration, Communications, Innovation, and Operations, each run by its own Mother–the acting overseer. UAs under the Operations’ directorate go through another two years of Contracts. These are individual missions based on an Agent’s specialization: Intelligence or Execution.

Then, graduation.

More like an embellished term for UAs’ Final Evaluation. It’s a final series of physical and psychological tests that are dealt out over the last year of being a UA. That’s age twenty for most of the Agents–Jeno and Donghyuck included.

Graduating meant signing on with the Agency for another three years as an Official Agent (OA). After that, OAs can choose a specialization to delve further into. They are then trained to become Mentors in their specific field and are entitled to the designation of a Special Agent (SA).

Not graduating meant remaining on with the Agency as an Unclassified Agent. Under Operations, it’s uncommon for failed Agents to remain at the Agency; most of them choose instead to return to the real world.

Jeno worries about that sometimes.

Without the Agency, he would be nothing. Without Donghyuck or Doyoung or anyone else he’s met through the Agency, he would have nobody else. Without this life, no matter the nightmares or the questionable morality, Jeno would have nothing. He knows nothing but the Agency, and if it’s the only thing that’s helping him stay away from an empty home–he sure is going to do his best to graduate the top of his year.

—

“A new neighbor?”

Jeno nods. He hands the report he’d readied to Doyoung, detailing both run-ins he’s had with Injun so far. Doyoung skims through it quickly, mumbling to himself, “I didn’t hear about this on my end.”

To protect Agents and their welfare, the Agency keeps a strict watch on the ins and outs of any apartment building holding any Agents. On the off chance a vengeful spouse comes after them, that is. Too many times has an Agent’s security been compromised due to information leaks within the Agency. It doesn’t happen as often as it used to anymore, but Doyoung still tells Jeno to sleep with his PHK under his pillow.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jeno shrugs. He picks up an origami rabbit on Doyoung’s desk, flicking at its ears, “He seems like a regular university student or something.”

“You’ve had contact?”

Doyoung says it with surprise, which isn’t uncalled for. Jeno liked to keep to himself, he didn’t particularly see a need in keeping connections outside the Agency. They would only compromise his position anyway.

“Not exactly,” Jeno thinks of the mole on Injun’s neck. “I know only his name, helped him get into his apartment.”

Doyoung glances at him, “Red flags?”

Jeno thinks about how Injun had almost eaten a leaf. He sets the bunny back down, “None.”

“Good.” Doyoung shuts the file and places it aside, “I’ll hand it to Mother anyway–you know how he is about safety and things like that.”

Jeno does. Despite the maternalistic nickname– _Mother–_ given, Supervisory Special Agent Seo holds a sound reputation for being hard-headed about the Agents’ well-being. It’s very well in-line with his caring disposition and affable grin, but Jeno’s had the displeasure of seeing UA Five be compromised on a Contract due to a mistake from the Administration’s directorate, and from that alone he knows–SSA Seo is most definitely not a force to be reckoned with.

“This is for you, by the way.”

Jeno takes the vanilla cream envelope from Doyoung. It’s of sturdy paper, lightly textured. His first thought is _wedding invitation_ , but the deadpan look Doyoung gives him says not to breathe a word of that. Flipping it over, he sees that it’s addressed to him in attractive handwritten calligraphy, _Jeno_ with a cute doodle of a puppy beside it.

“He’s throwing a Christmas party,” Doyoung says shortly. His excitement differs from the hearts and cat-printed stickers on the invitation. “Told me to hand it to you at once. Despite it being a months away.”

Jeno scans the invitation, picking out the date and time. A surge of warmth floods his chest when he sees the hearts and stars around the personalized invitation, his name standing out in big block letters. He slides the card back into the envelope and tucks it neatly into his notebook, “Thank you, hyung. I’ll be sure to be there.”

“A Christmas party,” Doyoung mumbles, shaking his head. “Twenty-four and he still wants to plan a Christmas party for three people, no less.”

Jeno tries not to smile at his Mentor’s despair. He bows to excuse himself, making it only halfway across Doyoung’s office before he’s called again.

“You should come by the bakery sometime next week,” Doyoung says. He doesn’t look up from his MacBook, “He says he hasn’t seen you lately–he misses you.”

That warmth returns to his heart. Jeno nods, and promises to visit soon.

—

“What do you have on later?”

Jeno pushes his salad around his plate, “Not much, I don’t think. Paperwork, I guess.”

“Fun,” Donghyuck hums. “I’ve got combat with Agent Jung.” He reaches over to spear his fork into the last of Jeno’s mushrooms, popping it between his lips before Jeno can knock it out of his best friend’s hand, “Anyway, the kids and I are thinking of having dumpling night tonight.”

Jeno hooks his ankles together, “That sounds nice.”

“You should come over,” Donghyuck says. He rests his elbows on the table and chews thoughtfully, “Chenle says he won’t have any of those frozen store-bought ones, so he and Jisung are at the fresh markets to get some of the ingredients for it.”

Jeno winces at the thought of spending the evening fourth-wheeling the happiest trio in the Agency, “Are you inviting Jaemin?”

“Not unless he apologizes before the sun sets.” Donghyuck waves his chopsticks in Jeno’s face, “Are you in?”

Jeno battles it internally. Over the past two weeks, Jeno’s been blatantly avoiding all three of them within the Agency, still trying to find it in him on how to adjust to this new change. Though it’s, frankly speaking, foolish of him to think he could ever succeed in avoiding Donghyuck–he sees Donghyuck more than anyone else in this life, even more than he does Doyoung. If he keeps this up, Donghyuck’s sure to suspect something–if he hasn’t already.

“Yeah,” Jeno yields. “I’ll come over.”

They stop by the grocer’s on the way back to the Agency. Chenle had called to complain about the lack of fresh chives at the market since Jisung’d woken up too late, and Donghyuck’d appeased them both by agreeing to get some before going home. It’s a small bodega-type place a couple of blocks from the Agency; Donghyuck tells Jeno to wait for him outside while he hopped in for a minute or two.

Jeno wanders to the restaurant next to the grocer’s, taking a lazy look at the menu, the Italian words intriguing. He sees a waitress approaching and leaves with a polite smile before she can address him. Venturing further, Jeno finds that he hasn’t been down this particular street recently. It’s a little hidden from the rows of commercial buildings and shops, but he remembers being by here when he wasn’t always cooped up in the Agency with Contracts and training.

There are several tea shops that weren’t here a year before, and a small café with a chalkboard by the entrance. Beside it, there’s a florist and flower shop; an array of potted plants and buckets of individually wrapped flowers lining the front, with the whole right side of the display showcasing beautifully pre-arranged bouquets.

Jeno approaches a particularly bright bouquet of sunflowers, gently caressing one of the sunny yellow petals. It’s soft under his finger, smooth and velvety. He touches the rest of the rest of the petals–roses, tulips, carnations. They feel the same, yet different.

If he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

“Oh.”

Jeno retracts his hand immediately, apology on the tip of his tongue when he looks up.

Injun stands, not far from where Jeno has his mouth wide open. He looks different from this morning; multi-colored woolen sweater and dark jeans partially hidden by an olive green apron tied to his waist, accentuating just how narrow his figure is. His hair–sandy in the sunlight–is tied into a small bun on the top of his head, keeping it out of his eyes. On the bridge of his nose are a pair of glasses, round and gold wire-rimmed.

Jeno keeps his curious hand into his pocket. He clears his throat, “Hyung.”

Injun blinks, “Hi.”

He’s carrying yet another potted plant in his hands, significantly larger and heavier looking than the one he was moving around the night before. All it takes is a second to notice how thin Injun’s arms are, enough to shatter under its staggering weight, shoulders too narrow to bear it. Without thinking, Jeno steps forward to take it from him. Injun lets go when their hands brush, mouth hanging open like it’s got a broken hinge.

“Where do you want this to go?”

“Huh?” Injun slams his mouth shut. He squeezes past Jeno, a whiff of lavender following him as he goes, to point at an empty corner of the display, “Here–here, please.”

Jeno strides over and sets it down carefully, helping Injun shift in into place with the side of his foot. He dusts his hands off, giving the tall plant with lilac flowers a long look before returning his gaze to Injun.

“What are you–” Injun tangles his fingers together in front of him, going on his tiptoes, then down. “What’re you doing here?”

Jeno points vaguely down the street, “I work nearby here.”

“Oh.” Injun’s cheeks are pink from the heat, “I–this is where I work too. Temporarily, I mean.” He seems to fluster constantly under Jeno’s gaze; Jeno doesn’t know how he should feel about it. “Did you–did you want to buy any flowers?”

Jeno moves to say _No, sorry_ but his head turns to look at the display again. On one of the higher racks, a row of small potter plants–barely the size of a mug–sit elegantly. It’s a mix of succulents and some others Jeno doesn’t recognize, all fit prettily in pots that look to be handmade.

“Yes!” Injun reaches over the display, precariously on his toes. Jeno suppresses the urge to steady him by the arm, lest he falls face first into the bed of flowers. He picks a lilac-sage succulent in a beige ceramic holder, designs etched on the sides. “These are all handmade planters, glazed to help keep the moisture from the plants in. This is an echeveria. It’s a flowering plant.”

Jeno takes the plant from Injun, not quite understanding the jargon.

“It doesn’t need much water,” Injun goes on. “A spritz once a week is good enough.”

The plant is about the size of Jeno’s hand and the green would be a nice pop of color on desk. He wonders if he’s committed enough to raise a plant–though he supposes a pet would be a lot harder–and decides that maybe he _should_ get one. Just to see if he’s parental material, for now.

“I’ll get this one,” Jeno says, turning the plant around to inspect it closely. “Did you make the–holder?”

“The planter?” Injun goes back to wringing his hands together. Jeno looks up at him through his lashes, tries not to stare too hard because Injun appears to ruffle up whenever he does. He supposes his gaze is a little too harsh on some days. Injun shakes his head, “No, I–I’ve only just been here a while, so I haven’t gotten the chance to–make any myself.”

Jeno nods, filing that bit of information away. He reaches for his wallet, but Injun steps back.

“It’s okay!” He holds a hand out, “You can take it for free.”

Jeno blinks, “What?”

“Treat it as a thank you,” Injun nods. He smiles, a shallow dimple on his cheek, “For last night and for helping me out earlier.”

Jeno looks at the succulent in his hand, “I can’t just take this without–”

“It really is okay,” Injun insists. He slinks past Jeno again, slowly backpedaling into the store, “It’s a gift.”

“But I–” Jeno frowns, “I have to pay you for this in some way, hyung.”

Injun stills. He licks his lips, just as he had the night before. His hands grip the edges of his florist apron, “Maybe–maybe a coffee together sometime?” He bites on his lip like he can’t _believe_ he’s said what he said, “Or not!”

Jeno feels something shoot up in his throat. His gut, or his heart, maybe. It’s an odd feeling, the warmth in his chest now spreading across his back and up his neck, down his shoulders. The tips of his ears burn hot and his cheeks must match the roses in the display.

“Okay,” he says. It’s full of hesitance, but that doesn’t seem to affect Injun, who simply blushes harder. Jeno holds the plant closer to himself, a sudden fizz crawling up his throat. He wrangles out, “See you later, hyung.”

Injun perks up, “You really can drop the formalities, Jeno.” He smiles and the fizz vanishes. Snuffed out like a candle in a storm, “Just–Injun is fine. Or Jun.”

Jeno nods robotically.

“See you,” Injun says, then ducks back into the shop without another glance back.

Jeno stands outside the shop for an inappropriate number of heartbeats. Donghyuck is waiting for him by the bodega when his legs take him back.

“Where did you–” Donghyuck does a double take, “Is that a plant?”

Jeno stares at it too, “Yeah.”

“Why do you have that?”

“A friend gave it to me,” Jeno mumbles. He tucks it safely under his arm, “I bumped into him at that florist shop nearby.”

Donghyuck peers down the street, “I didn’t know there was a florist on this street.” He shrugs, beginning their walk back to the Agency, paper bag hanging from the crook of his elbow, “Then again, I don’t know the difference between chives and spring onions, so what do I know, really.”

—

The echeveria–Jeno googled–fits nicely on his desk. He rips a yellow post it note off the stack he has and scribbles, _water once a week only,_ taking Injun’s advice seriously. He sticks it on the board above the plant, serving as a reminder. The green looks pleasant against the gray cubicle partitions and Jeno thinks he could get a couple more to brighten up his desk if this goes well.

Maybe one as a gift for Doyoung too.

“Agent Seven.”

Jeno stands at the sound of SSA Seo approaching, shoulders rolled back. SSA Seo is the only Agent who insists on giving UAs the title _Agent_ ; says it gives them a sense of motivation, to which Jeno can attest that it does, a little.

“At ease,” SSA Seo smiles. Jeno relaxes, but keeps a ready posture, one foot out in front of the other.

Supervisory Special Agent Seo Youngho, otherwise shortly known as _Mother_ or SSA Seo, is a tall man with coal black hair and gentle features. His eyes are almond shaped, gaze soft when he’s speaking to TAs, hard when he’s addressing Agents. He’s all kinds of fit; solid muscles, good core, long legs–undoubtedly one of the best Agents currently under the Agency. He plays the acting Mother of the Operations directorate, and Jeno hears he’d used an Intelligence Agent.

“I’m just here to run by that new neighbor of yours,” SSA Seo nods. In his hand is the report Jeno had typed out earlier. He goes on to ask, “You reported it straight to SA Kim? Not HR?”

“He’s my Mentor, sir,” Jeno says. “I–I thought reporting it to SA Kim would be–fine.”

SSA Seo waves his hand dismissively, “It is, not to worry. SA Kim handed it to me for further checks. Good job on alert.”

Jeno’s heart beats a little quicker in his chest.

“But you don’t have to worry about this–Hwang Injun,” SSA Seo places the report on the table, hand over it for a second. He gives Jeno a reassuring smile, “He’s not in any of our databases and there’s no criminal record of any sort; he’s clear.”

Jeno holds a sigh of relief. He didn’t think Injun would bring up any warnings during the background check, but it’s still good to know that his new neighbor is as normal as Jeno thought to be.

“Thank you, sir.”

SSA Seo grins, “Great work you’re doing, Agent Seven.” He does a quick sweep of Jeno’s desk, pausing a moment at the echeveria before nodding, “SA Kim and I have great hopes for you.”

Jeno bows his head slightly, “Thank you, sir.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” SSA Seo hums. “I have a meeting with a few foreign dignitaries. Have you seen Agent Jung? He’s supposed to attend the meeting with me.”

Official Agent Jung Jaehyun, OA Jung. SSA Seo’s right-hand, or so the UAs refer to him as. One of the top all-rounders in the Agency with a perfect physique–which makes all the UAs envious–and an equally enamoring personality–which makes Agent Jung hard to dislike. Jeno’s had the opportunity to battle Agent Jung in a friendly-match of paintball with the other Agents–which turned out to be terribly _unfriendly_ thanks to everyone’s collectively competitive nature.

“He’s in combat training with Agent Two, sir.”

“Skimping off on official duties, I see,” SSA Seo mumbles. He fiddles with the end of his tie (upon closer look, Jeno notices that it’s decorated with various tiny kittens), “Oh, well–I’ll have to go get him myself then. Keep it up, Agent.”

Jeno thanks him again, and waits until that tall frame of his is out of sight before he sinks back into his chair. Out of curiosity, he flips open the report, giving it a thorough scan. Nothing jumps out as unusual to Jeno; _Enrolled in Seoul University, Major: Undecided, Employment: cists, Record of Offenses: None, Record of Arrests: None, Record of Court Appearances: None._

On the top right corner is an ID photograph of Injun. He’s in his glasses again, cheeks raised high for the picture. Jeno brushes his thumb over the glossy print, tracing over Injun’s smile. He’s in a nice blue and white striped shirt, the first two buttons undone. Jeno juts out his lower lip, thinking about how ugly all of his own ID cards are (including the one for his apartment, which he took himself a hundred times over).

He shuts the folder and tucks it into one of the drawers under his desk. _Time to get to work,_ he laments, pulling up a new document and starting up his report for his previous Contract.

–

“I said not to put too much filling!”

“You said to use a tablespoon. I _did_ use a tablespoon.”

“It’s more than a tablespoon if you pile it up like that Park Jisung. That’s a heap you’ve got there.”

“Then maybe you should be more precise about your instructions!”

“Yeah well, maybe you should just be _quiet_!”

Jeno sits up on the couch at the sound of bickering, “Should we do something?”

Donghyuck is lying on his back with an ice pack on the crook of his neck, nursing a minor injury he’d gotten over combat training. He winces while angling his head to where Chenle and Jisung are still arguing over the spread of ingredients, flour dotting their arms and noses.

“Leave them,” Donghyuck says. He groans, shifting back into a more comfortable position, eyes floating back to the TV playing a rerun of _Running Man_. “It’ll only make things worse if I go over there anyway,” he catches Jeno’s confused expression, sighing, “They’ll accuse me of taking sides.”

“Right.”

Jeno settles back onto the couch, says nothing when Donghyuck moves to rests his legs over his lap. The couch is too short to fit them both anyway, and considering how Donghyuck _is_ mostly legs, Jeno finds no problem with the closeness. It used to be like this over the weekends, recovering from aches and bruises, letting their minds shut off for an evening, enjoying the quiet.

“Park Jisung! You seriously are making a mess!”

“You said the skin wouldn’t break!”

“Anything would if you’re squashing it up with your ridiculously _monstrous_ hands!”

Jeno misses the quiet.

Donghyuck clicks his tongue loudly, throwing an arm over his eyes, “Kids.” Jeno sees both Chenle and Jisung simmer, glaring at one another silently. Donghyuck peeks from under his arm, “Will you help Le with the dumplings?”

Jeno nods.

“Ji,” Donghyuck calls. The tall boy scurries over, leaving a puff of flour in his wake. He takes Jeno’s spot and maneuvers Donghyuck’s legs to rest on his lap, looking quite pleased. “You’re like puppies, the both of you,” Donghyuck chides, “Can’t leave you both unattended even for a minute.”

“He started it,” Jeno hears Chenle grumble. He takes Jisung’s place, admitting inwardly that Jisung definitely _was_ making quite a bit of a mess. Chenle seems to notice this, hastily clearing off Jisung’s failed dumpling for Jeno.

Jeno rolls up his sleeves, but pauses at the set-up, “I should probably wash my hands.”

Chenle looks at him, blinking owlishly, “You probably should, ge.”

Jeno gets up again to head for the kitchen, opens the tap and washes his hands thoroughly. Even in the kitchen he spots traces of three very distinct personalities–Donghyuck’s polka-dotted apron and matching set of baking tools; Chenle’s porcelain Chinese tea set with white and blue saucers, cups, and lids; Jisung’s array of fried snacks in the corner, all of them opened and half-eaten. Jeno shuts the water off and thinks not of his own empty kitchen.

“Okay, so what you’re going to want to do is take some of the filling and place it in the middle of the _pi_ ,” Chenle instructs him slowly, taking him through the steps. He demonstrates as he speaks, “As in the skin of the dumpling.”

Jeno dusts his hands with flour and gets to work.

“With some water, you can seal the side off here to make a pocket, or you could try making a pleat–like this.”

Jeno focuses on the unmade dumpling in his hand. Some part of him is registering how surreal it is for Chenle to be giving him directions that isn’t towards a Contract, but Jeno tunes that out.

Chenle’d transferred as an Off-Field Agent status a few months ago, working under the Innovations directorate. He was assigned to Jeno as part of his probation in February; they only have a few more Contracts together before Chenle is assigned to handle–assist in navigation and weaponry–another Agent, for training purposes.

“You’re doing great, ge,” Chenle enthuses, nodding encouragingly at the awkward, lumpy dumpling in Jeno’s palm. He raises his voice to say, “Unlike _some_ people who don’t understand the consequences of greed.”

“You said one tablespoon!”

Donghyuck shushes them, and they quiet again obediently.

“How are your studies coming along?” Jeno asks, starting on his second dumpling, “Hyuck tells me you’re taking some linguistics courses.”

“They’re interesting,” Chenle says. His fingers are thin and his motions are polished; he finishes four dumplings at the time Jeno’s midway through his second. “SA Wen recommended I attend it for a couple of weeks, you know–to be prepared for if I ever have to go out on the field.”

Jeno unsticks and sticks the flaps carefully, “On the field?”

“Yeah.” Chenle purses his lips, finishing up his fifth dumpling, “If I let slip that I have a different native language, or if my accent’s too strong–it’d raise suspicion, wouldn’t it?”

The dumpling looks sad and inedible, but it’s past salvageable. Jeno sets it aside and looks at Chenle, “I wouldn’t find anything wrong with the way you spoke.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Chenle winks cheekily. “But I guess it’s good training. I’m learning all sorts of things I didn’t know existed.”

“I’m sure you know more than I do,” Jeno assures. His command of language is fine, but anything past technical terms is way over his league. He picks up another _pi_ , “What else has the Agency got you doing?”

“I’ve been shadowing SA Im in Innovations. We’ve been working on a new season of gadgets for this year’s Final Evaluation.”

Jeno’s hands don’t falter at the mention of the Final Evaluation. It’s something that’s on the back of every UAs’ mind, but the secrecy over how these tests are dealt is one of the heaviest burdens over Jeno’s shoulders. Even Doyoung is tight-lipped about it, not sparing Jeno a hint of _when_ these tests will be held.

Word on the Operations UAs grapevine is that the Final Evaluation comes in three parts: Physical, Psychological, and Performance. The physical aspect places UAs against the team of Mentors and SSA Seo–Mother of the Operations directorate–in the combat arena for a one-to-one, hand-to-hand assessment. The psychological aspect places UAs in a two-hour clinical interview with the Mothers of the Administration and Innovation directorates, SSA Yoon Jeonghan and SSA Kim Jiwon.

The performance component, however, is a mystery. Jeno guesses SSA Lee Jooheon from the Communication directorate handles performance.

He keeps his voice leveled, “You’re working on the Final Evaluation this year?”

“Yeah,” Chenle folds the dumpling in half, pleating the edges. His brown hair falls over his eyes in concentration, “But they don’t tell us about much–we’re on a need-to-know basis.”

Jeno dampens the edge of his _pi_ with a little water, “I see.” He lightens his tone, “What kind of gadgets are you working on?”

“Oh–a whole new range of wearable tech,” Chenle bubbles excitedly. He adds his finished dumpling onto the plate, making a neat and even thirty dumplings so far–including Jeno and Jisung’s lumpy ones. “We’ve been getting some new innovations from other Agencies so there’s been quite a fair bit of information exchange lately.”

"Other Agencies?”

Chenle’s hands work without pause, “I hear our Seoul branch is looking into a more unified front with the other Agencies, being a capital and all that.”

Jeno nods, “I overheard SSA Seo mention something about meeting a few foreign notables.”

“I’m working with an Agent Xu now, who was my direct senior back in the Shanghai Agency.” Chenle beams, recalling memories, “We used to train in combat together–before I transferred over here.”

Jeno nods, listens attentively. Despite Chenle being his Handler, he’s never really had a proper conversation with the boy outside of Contract details. He did know Chenle transferred over from the Shanghai Agency as an Off-Field Agent, but not much other than that.

“Did you put the transfer in yourself?”

“No,” Chenle tucks a dumpling aside, starts another. “SSA Qian–he’s the current Mother of the Shanghai Agency–thought I’d be a better asset here.” For the first time since Jeno sat down, Chenle’s eyes drift over to where Jisung and Donghyuck are huddled on the couch, “I don’t think I regret any of it though.”

Jeno follows his gaze, murmuring to himself, “I wouldn’t think you did either.”

“Besides,” Chenle shrugs, “the Seoul Agency has far better food. Agent Xu disagrees, but I don’t know–I think I’ve gotten used to the food here. And all the desserts–those are really good.” He finishes sealing the dumpling in his palm, “Park, you’re needed now.”

There’s a soft grumble and Donghyuck’s authoritative, _go, Jisung._

“Promise I won’t yell at you,” Chenle says, getting to his feet. He picks up the plate of uncooked dumplings in one hand, the other curling around Jisung’s waist when he draws near. Chenle lowers his voice, out of Donghyuck’s earshot, “Provided you don’t mess up, that is.”

“ _Hyung_.”

“Fine, fine.”

Jeno keeps at the dumpling making, convincing himself that every one he makes looks better than the one before. It’s when he’s done with three more that Chenle returns, having taught Jisung how to pan-fry the dumplings. He takes a look at the remaining fillings, just as Donghyuck retires from his spot on the couch.

“Have you made enough for dinner?”

“Yeah,” Chenle sits back down and resumes his work. Donghyuck pulls out the wooden dining chair beside Jeno and settles in comfortably, warming ice pack in his hands, “There’ll be enough for leftovers tomorrow too.”

Donghyuck nudges Jeno, “You should take some home with you. Have some of it with those takeouts you’re so crazy over.”

“They’re good,” Jeno defends, and concedes, “but thank you.”

“I’ll have to take care of you too, my best friend,” Donghyuck sighs, dramatically falling over to lean on Jeno’s side. “What would you do without me?”

Jeno wonders the same thing. Wonders how he’ll feel tonight, going home to his empty apartment after hours in such a warm and loving nest. Wonders if he’ll toss and turn, thinking about how cold his bed his despite the three blankets piled on him. Wonders if he’ll wake on a Sunday morning to an empty home once again, wonders if he’ll wish he had more.

“I wonder,” Jeno hums.

Donghyuck pats him on the shoulder, then stands to go check on Jisung in the kitchen.

—

“Oh.”

Jeno looks over his shoulder, key halfway into the lock. The door to Injun’s apartment is slightly left open, and behind it is its owner, back in his pajamas once more. On his head is a fluffy headband with little cat ears on the top, pushing his hair back.

Jeno feels the corners of his lips twitch, “You seem to say that a lot.”

“Oh.” Injun fidgets, “I mean–not _oh_. I mean–yes. I guess I do.”

Knowing full well the time, Jeno makes a show of glancing at his wristwatch, “Up late tonight?”

“I was just watching some TV and I remembered I’d left my shoes out here so I was going to bring them in,” Injun babbles. His fingers curl along the side of the door, thin and dainty, “Did you–just get off work?”

Jeno unlocks his door, “No, I had dinner at my friends’ house.” He lifts the Tupperware in his hand, “Made some dumplings.”

“Oh.” He winces, “I mean–”

“I didn’t mean it to be a bad thing,” Jeno smiles. He steps into his home, “We’re having coffee together this week, right?”

“Yes!” Injun blinks rapidly, “Yes, coffee.”

“How’s Friday?”

“Okay.” Injun repeats, “Friday.”

Jeno smiles, points to Injun’s shoes with his free hand, “Don’t worry about your shoes–you can leave them out here. The building’s pretty safe.”

Injun looks down, then up at Jeno again, eyes impossibly wide, “Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jeno.”

And he shuts the door.

Placing the dumplings into the fridge–beside his _chow mein_ –and unstrapping his holster, Jeno wonders what this could be. Injun seems nice and pleasant, a little skittish and shy, but Jeno decides that he likes his new neighbor anyway. It sure beats the tenant who occupied _502_ before Injun did–they hadn’t bothered to speak a word to Jeno the entire year he’s moved in.

Injun is sweet and friendly and kind and different.

Injun is different.

Maybe he _should_ come out of his shell a little more. With Donghyuck and Doyoung–his closest confidants–living full and well lives with the people they love, maybe it’s time for Jeno to find some new friends outside the Agency.

He sighs, turning the PHK around in his hands, oddly unable to name the feeling in his chest.

— 

On Wednesday, Donghyuck ships off to somewhere a two-hour plane ride away and he tells Jeno to please check-in on Chenle and Jisung once in a while (“Just make sure they don’t burn the apartment down.”) Jeno reassures his best friend that he’ll do just that, wishes him a smooth trip. With his afternoon free, he takes up on Doyoung’s offer for lunch and they leave the Agency at around half past noon.

“Have you received the details of your next Contract?”

“Yes.” Jeno sidesteps a crack on the ground; Doyoung frowns at his superstitiousness. “Saw them on my in tray this morning. I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet, but I will by the end of today.”

“Good.” Doyoung leads them down one of the quieter streets, taking a shortcut to the metro station, “It’s a high-profile mark so be familiar.”

Jeno nods.

It’s not so often the Agency deploys Execution Agents on high-profile targets. So much as the term _assassin_ comes in to use, the Agency really only sends Execution Agents out to tie up loose ends; witnesses that might’ve seen too much, partners that’d escaped the initial hunt, family members actively plotting revenge. Jeno doesn’t know how the Agency determines who gets to live and who doesn’t–maybe they’re in contact with a higher power–but they do. Even without knowing the full extent of the Agency’s resources and power, Jeno knows it’s best to stay in the Agency’s good books.

Jeno hops down the last step and fishes his phone out, metro card lodged firmly between his ID and the back of his phone. He taps it onto the sensors, following Doyoung down Exit 9, “Are we going to the bakery?”

“Yes.” Doyoung slips his wallet back into his jacket pocket, takes the stairs, “I told him we’d come down for a visit today. Maybe bring him some lunch.”

Jeno holds back a teasing smile, “You actually are really sweet on him.”

Doyoung flashes him an unamused look, “He’s my fiancé, Jeno. It’s almost part of the job description.”

“You say that as if you don’t _want_ to be doing these things for him.” Jeno sticks his tongue out between his teeth cheekily, watching Doyoung roll his eyes. If he’d said this anywhere near the Agency, Doyoung’d have him do at least a hundred laps around the indoor track, “You go home more often now. I haven’t seen you spend a night in your office ever since you’d gotten engaged.”

“That’s because he waits up for me,” Doyoung leads them to a secluded part of the platform, “He’ll stay up all night in retaliation if I don’t go home.”

Jeno hides his hands in his pockets, “That’s sweet.”

Doyoung huffs, “It’s dangerous. He works in the kitchen with ovens and pans and sharp knives, he can’t be moving around on an eight-hour shift with no sleep.”

Jeno lifts a brow, “You think working in a kitchen is dangerous?”

“To him it is,” Doyoung says. He folds his arms across his chest, “He’s always dropping and forgetting things–a complete hazard to himself and to everyone around him.”

“You sound like his mother.”

Doyoung snorts, “At this point, I might as well be.”

They take Line 2 up four stops. The bakery isn’t too far from the metro station but they take a detour to a fried chicken place nearby. Doyoung orders enough for them three–half-soy, half-fried, boneless with an assortment of radish and coleslaw as sides–and they carry two paper bags each to _Yong’s Pâtisserie._

The shop stands out from even a mile away, its bright yellow exterior catching the eyes of many passersby. There aren’t many people on the street, but Jeno imagines it can get busy during peak hours and the weekends. He remembers the first time he’d visited the bakery; it was a month after he graduated under Doyoung’s teachings and Doyoung had offered to take him out for lunch. He’d later learned how Doyoung’d decided to trust Jeno, his one and only student, only then allowing Jeno in on his biggest secret–Lee Taeyong.

“Baby!”

The door is barely shut when a petite boy with fluffy purple-plum colored hair is peeking from behind the counter, bolting up to his feet and rushing to meet them excitedly. For twenty-four, Taeyong looks as if he’s barely passed eighteen with his bright eyes and stunning smile. He throws his hands around Doyoung’s neck, planting a wet kiss on Doyoung’s lips.

Jeno turns away politely.

“You kept your promise!”

“Of course I did,” Doyoung scoffs. His ears, however, are the brightest red Jeno’s ever seen them, a clear indication of Taeyong’s mere effect on the typically cold-hearted Special Agent. He moves to place the boxes of fried chicken one of the small tables, turning to gesture to Jeno, “And I brought your favorite kid with me.”

“So I see!”

Jeno holds himself steady when Taeyong hugs him too, big and welcoming. He notes how sweet Taeyong always smells, most certainly from being around baked goods and icing all day. Doyoung takes the bags of fried chicken from him for Jeno to return the hug, the older boy’s thin frame in his arms, “Hi, hyung. It’s nice to finally see you again.”

Taeyong pulls away, hands coming up to pinch Jeno’s cheeks, “Oh my gosh–you are such a sweetheart!” He squishes Jeno’s cheeks fondly, and Jeno lets him, quite pleased with being coddled, “And you’ve gotten so tall! You can’t _still_ be growing, can you?”

Jeno speaks through mushed cheeks, “I don’t think I’ve grown lately–”

“What are they feeding you at the Agency!” Taeyong, even with the perfect features and stunning beauty, flawlessly embodies a middle-aged lady with four grandkids, “You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you!”

“Well, I–”

“He’s the same height,” Doyoung interjects flatly. He tugs on Taeyong’s elbow, brows furrowing together when Taeyong swats him off, intent on pampering Jeno more, “But I brought–”

“Doie said you’d be coming along today,” Taeyong goes on, as if Doyoung hadn’t spoken. Jeno shoots his Mentor an apologetic look, focusing his gaze back on Taeyong, “So I made a few cakes for you to bring home–you like green tea, don’t you? And chocolate? And red velvet?”

Jeno blinks, “Thank you, hyung, but I can’t accept–”

“I’ve already packed them up nicely for you to take home,” Taeyong smiles, patting Jeno on the shoulders. He’s not all that shorter than Jeno is, but the difference is still noticeable enough for Jeno to want to slouch a little, “Remind me to hand them to you before you leave, alright?”

Jeno nods, knowing when to concede, “Thank you, hyung.”

Taeyong gushes, “You really are the sweetest, oh goodness–why aren’t you wearing more layers, it’s so cold out today! I have an extra scarf you can take home with you, okay? Don’t catch a cold, you won’t–”

Behind him, Doyoung sulks, “I’m never bringing him over again.”

“Oh, you,” Taeyong scoffs, leaving Jeno, finally, to return to Doyoung’s side. He wraps his arms around Doyoung’s waist, the closest Jeno’s ever seen anyone stick to Kim Doyoung, kissing his fiancé on the cheek, “You’ve got no reason to be jealous, hm.”

“Right,” Doyoung hugs Taeyong by the shoulders, sneaking a kiss to Taeyong’s crown, “As I was saying–I brought you lunch.”

“My savior,” Taeyong hums. He slips away to check on the oven timer, directs Doyoung to set up at one of the tables closer to the back of the store lest a customer comes in.

“Are you sure I’m not intruding?” Jeno whispers this as they open the four boxes of fried chicken, invading the heavenly smell of sweet pastries.

“Taeyong likes you,” Doyoung says simply. He uncaps the radishes and coleslaw, “He’s always asking for you, worries over you.”

“Worries?”

Doyoung sets up a plastic bag for rubbish, “Being an Agent can be lonely at times.” He sits in one of the plastic chairs, motions for Jeno to do the same, “I know how it’s like and he knows how I used to be.” At Jeno’s silence, “Before meeting Taeyong, I knew only life at the Agency. I didn’t know anything else–and at one point, it was devastatingly lonely.”

Jeno unnerves at how familiar this sounds.

“He knows this, knows you,” Doyoung shrugs, picking up a pair of chopsticks. He breaks it apart and Jeno thinks him to start eating, but he sets it aside for Taeyong instead and picks up another pair for himself.

 _Sweet_.

“You can stay, Jeno. You’re not intruding at all.”

Jeno shifts in his seat, “Thank you, hyung.”

Taeyong reappears with two bottles of iced tea in his arms, “Bought these on the way here earlier.” He sets them down and takes the seat beside Jeno over the one next to Doyoung, oblivious–or ignorant–of the hurt look on his fiancé’s face, “So, Jeno, how are things at the Agency? Still having those horrible trainings of yours?”

“They’re getting better,” Jeno says carefully. The only reason they were horrible in the first place is because he had to go up against the notorious Kim Doyoung in combat. He plates a piece of fried chicken for Taeyong, “I’m locking more sessions in with another SA Kim now since Doyoung hyung isn’t on training grounds as often as he used to be.”

Taeyong nods firmly, “Good.” He sounds exactly like Doyoung when he says just that, and Jeno can’t help but grin at the similarity. Across the table, Doyoung rolls his eyes, “He’s been complaining about how bad his back’s been hurting, yet hates it when I tell him to take a break from all the running around you kids do.”

“He’s been cooped up in his office a lot more lately,” Jeno reassures.

The Agency rarely sent Doyoung out; an asset as valuable as Kim Doyoung is reserved only for the most critical and complex of missions. In the entire time Jeno’s been with the Agency, he’s only seen Doyoung work a handful of cases; all of which required him to be away for weeks at a time, and to play both Intelligence and Execution, a testimony to the sheer difference of difficulty his Contracts are against Jeno’s.

That fact, he keeps mum from Taeyong.

“And how is Youngho?”

Jeno’s reflexes tell him to freeze at the casual mention of the Operations’ Mother, but enough training has ruled most–if not, all–indications of hesitation from his body, “SSA Seo?”

Taeyong pops a piece of chicken into his mouth, “Ah yes, him.”

“You know SSA Seo?”

“I’ve met him twice now,” Taeyong nods. He thinks back, “Or maybe thrice, if you count the time he came in to order that birthday cake for his niece.”

Jeno continues eating quietly; he was under the impression that he’d been the only soul at the Agency who knew about Lee Taeyong’s existence.

“Youngho hyung knows,” Doyoung fills in. He covers his mouth as he speaks, “It’s a recent development. For protection’s sake.”

Taeyong clicks his tongue, sighing loudly, “Every time you say that, I spend the entire rest of the day looking over my shoulder thinking I might have someone follow me around or something.”

It’s said jokingly, but Jeno’s eyes catch the way Doyoung’s shoulders drop. A movement so small that Doyoung doesn’t notice it either, not until he looks up half a second later to Jeno watching him. He shakes his head, just a tilt, and Jeno drops his gaze in understanding.

“It’s good that he knows anyway,” Taeyong continues, missing the exchange entirely. Jeno doesn’t fault him–a non-Agent would miss more than half the non-verbal cues Agents trade. “At least someone would know to call me if something were to happen to Doie.”

Doyoung bites on the end of his chopstick, “Nothing is going to happen.”

“Don’t say that,” Taeyong frowns. He waves his chopstick dismissively, “Ignorance isn’t bliss.”

“It’s not ignorance. It’s the truth.”

“The _truth_? Are you serious?”

“It is, hyung. Nothing’s going to happen, I’ll make sure of it.”

Taeyong’s lips press into a thin line. His gaze hardens and Jeno shrinks further into the plastic seat. Doyoung does the same, head bowing in a silent assent. It’s the first Jeno’s seen a demeanor of Taeyong’s other than bubbly and friendly and he thinks distantly he wouldn’t ever want to see _this_ Taeyong turned against him.

Taeyong clears his throat, “I’m going to get us some water.”

He stands to leave, hip bumping into the table in a rush to get out. Doyoung follows immediately, and they disappear into the kitchen, leaving Jeno alone in the store. He breathes deeply, feeling as if he hadn’t ever since the conversation started.

“–told you _yesterday_ –this conversation again, Doyoung, I said I _don’t_ want to argue over it–”

Jeno winces when he catches bits and pieces of the very obviously private exchange happening not far from him. It’s the heightened senses of his, trained to pick up even the softest of whispers.

“Oh, yeah?” He hears Taeyong challenge, “What exactly are you going to do if something does happen? Huh? You’re always telling me nothing will ever happen to you–how sure are you of that? How sure are you that I won’t wake up one day to a call about how you got _shot_ on a mission? Can you promise that will never happen?”

“Taeyong–”

“Don’t make sweeping statements. That’s all I ask, alright?” Jeno tries to shut his ears, but the words keep coming, “I don’t want–I don’t want to live thinking that you’ll never be taken from me, only to wake up one day to find that you have.”

“Okay–okay.”

Jeno shoves a piece of chicken into his mouth roughly, curses the Agency training for being so tremendously good at polishing Agents into tip-top shape. His hearing is near perfect, catching every word,

“I love you, Doyoung, that’s why I said yes. I said yes to everything. To the Contracts, to the hours away, to the danger. I said yes to you because I love you. So–don’t tell me nothing will ever happen because it will break me if something does.”

Jeno pauses mid-chew.

_You’ll break me._

Is this how love is meant to be? If anything, Doyoung and Taeyong is Jeno’s first thought when it comes to love. Being in love and having a relationship, moving forward together in life–all of those seem absolutely unattainable to Jeno. He couldn’t ever put someone through that, could he? Every Contract has him leaving the Agency without knowing if he’ll ever come back; surely the stakes are doubled– _tripled_ –for Doyoung.

The idea of love has never really plagued Jeno’s thoughts. It’s more often the mere feeling of loneliness or envy that he’s so experienced in bottling up. There’s never been that desire for _love._

Is this what he been missing all this while? Playing envy to what Donghyuck managed to find? Love, is it?

He thinks of gold wire-rimmed glasses and echeverias.

Jeno blinks.

Doyoung’s voice enters his head once more, “Okay, I’m sorry–I’m sorry, I–understand. I’m sorry, and I–I love you too, hyung. I really do.”

It effectively clears all lingering thoughts away when they reappear, two glasses of water in Doyoung’s hands and one in Taeyong’s. There’s a red and green plaid scarf in Taeyong’s arms, to which Jeno accepts gratefully.

“So, Jeno,” Taeyong says, reclaiming his spot and speaking as if he’d never left. He clears his throat, “Tell me all about your training sessions–are they as tough it was with Doie?”

Jeno schools composure and smiles, “I don’t think anything could ever be how tough that was.” Taeyong’s lips part to form a surprised _o_ and Jeno nods, feigning petulance, “He made me spar him with added weights.”

“With added–” Taeyong whips around to glare at his fiancé, “Doyoung!”

Doyoung gapes, “It’s made him so much quicker!”

Taeyong shakes his head, “You’re overworking these kids.”

Doyoung slumps in his chair, and Jeno moves to amend his answer before his Mentor dissolves further into despair, “Doyoung hyung’s actually one of the best at the Agency. I haven’t met anyone that’s been able to beat him in combat.”

Taeyong nibbles on a piece of radish, “I could beat him.”

Doyoung perks up at that, “What?”

“I could.” Taeyong shrugs when Doyoung stares, bewildered, “I’ve got tricks up my sleeves you don’t know about, honey.”

Jeno laughs, plays it off as a choking cough when Doyoung glares at him.

“That’d be cheating!”

A customer walks through the door then and Taeyong stands to greet them. Before he leaves however, he curls a hand around Doyoung’s neck and kisses the shell of Doyoung’s ear, making the younger boy cower once more, “I’ve never promised to play fair.”

Taeyong grins triumphantly and Jeno can’t help the laugh that bubbles through this time, blatantly enjoying the furious blush on Doyoung’s cheeks and the indignant look on his face. How love can so easily melt Doyoung, owner of one of the coldest souls to ever grace the Agency, Jeno finds that far too amusing.

—

Taeyong sends him home with enough slices of cake for more than Jeno could ever think of eating so naturally– _naturally_ –he finds himself standing out in the hall. Which, retrospectively, is where he’s been standing a lot lately. In his left hand is a plate of three different kinds of cakes, specialties to _Yong’s Pâtisserie,_ and his right hand is a fist hovering over the door to _502_.

Jeno licks his lips, heart beating a little quicker in his chest. He doesn’t know if offering cake to his neighbor at eight in the evening fits within normal neighborly customs. Quite frankly, being locked away in the world of the Agency and Contracts has deadened Jeno’s sense on normality.

For one, he knows definitely that the PHK still strapped to his torso can’t possibly be a possession so ordinary.

 _Maybe I should leave it at home_. Jeno lowers his fist, thinks to unarm himself before speaking with Injun. Another voice chimes in, _But what if you need it?_

Jeno debates it for a moment more, decides eventually that, in any case, there wouldn’t be a reason for Injun to come close enough to feel the telltale bump under his sweater. If it does ever get to that, Donghyuck once told an old lady that his PHK was a pacemaker–never mind that he’s seventy years younger than the average user of one–and ran off before she could voice her very reasonable concerns.

He could always say that too.

The door is answered fairly quickly after Jeno’s knocking, and Injun’s peeks out slowly. Once he sees it’s Jeno, however, a smile lights his face and the door is swung open. Unlike their last encounter in the hallway, Injun’s dressed comfortably in a large black shirt and shorts, glasses nowhere to be seen.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Jeno temporarily forgets his reason for knocking. Injun looks at him expectantly, kindly. He finds words, “A friend of mine made me some extra cakes and he gave me a few too many… I was wondering if–or well, I thought to share them with you.”

Injun looks at the assortment on the plate, then up at Jeno, “With me?”

Jeno pauses. He’d phrased that wrongly, _Give them to you_.

“Sure,” Injun beams, before Jeno can correct himself. He opens the door a little wider, “Would you–would you like to come in then?”

Jeno doesn’t see why not.

“Okay.”

Injun’s apartment is larger than Jeno’s. For one thing, it isn’t a studio. There’s a hallway down the left of the apartment that breaks into two rooms. The living room is only slightly bigger, enough to fit a proper two-seater couch and a coffee table. On the wall across it is a decent-sized flat screen TV, and a few gaming consoles hooked up to it.

An expensive, but otherwise average, apartment for a university student.

“Would you like something to drink?” Injun asks, rounding the marble-top island in the middle of the kitchen. His fingers are laced together, resting on the counter, an almost anxious smile on his lips, “Tea? Hot chocolate?”

Jeno shakes his head, “That’s fine, thank you.”

Injun pours him a glass of water anyway, “I thought I’d only be seeing you on Friday.”

 _Is he looking forward to that?_ Jeno’s ears warm up at the idea of Injun being– _excited_ to see him again. As if their small encounters in the halls are leading up to something–more.

He marvels when Jeno rests the plate on the counter, eyeing each of the cakes, “These look so good–did your friend really make these?”

“He runs a bakery,” Jeno says, as Injun turns to get forks for them both.

“A bakery, that sounds really impressive.” Injun licks his lips, ponders, “Even with pre-mixes, I could never get the densities right for any kind of cake.”

On the tip his tongue, Jeno wants to say that it isn’t run by someone their age or in their season, but chooses otherwise. Doyoung’d told him to live as if Taeyong doesn’t exist, he should do as he’s told. Instead, he points at the cakes, “Do you have a favorite?”

Injun considers the question seriously, sighs, “I can’t pick. They all look equally too impressive to be eaten.”

“Chocolate then,” Jeno suggests. He pushes it to Injun, lets him have the first bite. Injun does, savoring it slowly, “Is it good?”

“Really good.” He gives it a thumbs up, turns it back to Jeno, “You should have some too.”

Jeno takes a bite himself, understanding immediately the craze over _Yong’s Pâtisserie._ He twirls the fork between his fingers, “Did you have to work today?”

“I did,” Injun nods. He scoops himself a bigger bite of the cake, “I usually only take a couple of afternoon and evening shifts after my classes, but a really large rush order came in over the weekend, so I told my manager I wouldn’t mind helping out a little more,” he shrugs, smiling.

“A rush order?”

“It’s for a wedding this weekend,” Injun explains. “From the centerpieces to the bride’s bouquet and the husband’s boutonnière, that’s all we’ve been working on at the store lately.” Jeno chips away at the cake diligently as Injun continues, “They’re all beautiful flowers we get to work with, but I just hope they’ll all be ready for the wedding.”

Jeno nibbles on the tip of his fork, “Did you need any help?”

Injun blinks, hand frozen where he’d been intent on staling the piece of white chocolate atop the cake. Jeno watches him swallow thickly, throat working, “Help?”

“I mean,” Jeno doesn’t know what he’s _doing_ , “I have some free time on my hands… I don’t know much about flowers, but if you ever needed an extra set of arms to ferry plants–I could–uhm, help?”

Injun’s jaw drops, “You would do that?”

Somewhere in Jeno, he realizes that _No_ , he would absolutely not do this. If he’d been in this spot two months ago, he wouldn’t have even considered the idea of being in his neighbor’s apartment. He would’ve been out with Donghyuck, or cooped up in the Agency, running through trainings, filing away at Contracts. He would’ve had dinner with Jaemin or any other UA unfortunate enough to still be stuck in the Agency past eight in the evening. His life revolves around the Agency, there’s nothing that could possibly matter, that could possibly be any important to him.

But Injun.

Injun has nothing to with the Agency. He has nothing to do with the executions, the training, the life Jeno’s come to know, the only thing he lets himself know. His interactions with Injun have been the only ones that aren’t tied to the Agency–even speaking to Taeyong had Jeno thinking about work. There is virtually no escape from the Agency, from the impending Contracts and Evaluations, there’s no living in the _now._

“Jeno?”

He snaps his head back up, unaware that he’d been staring at the ground for too long a time. Injun brings him back to now. Without any ties to the Agency, Injun feels like a breath of fresh air, like Jeno had never thought he’d be able to breathe, never thought there was even a chance of it. 

“Sorry,” he says, cold sweat forming on his palms, “I don’t know what I’m saying, I–”

“No, no–”

In his haste, Injun’s fork goes flying out of his hand. Jeno ducks on instinct when it hurtles towards his face, and it hits the ground with a splatter of chocolate cake against the porcelain tiles. Jeno crouches to pick it up as Injun appears with a paper towel; their hands brush. Jeno doesn’t falter at the contact, but he does hover when Injun drops the paper roll, visibly surprised.

Slowly, Injun lifts his eyes. Jeno locks every limb, watching Injun with the same intent. Injun’s cheeks color a rosy pink when his eyes drop to Jeno’s lips, a drop so distressingly obvious that there was no chance Injun thought it would go by Jeno unnoticed.

“Uhm,” it comes out like a whisper. Jeno clears his throat, which effectively breaks the trance Injun seemed to be in, “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Injun crushes the paper towel in his right hand, and Jeno spots a dark birthmark on the back of it. Injun turns away, “Yes, sorry–I was just–trying to thank you,” he breathes, still avoiding Jeno’s eyes, “for offering, and that I would really–appreciate it if you ever came by to help out.”

Jeno grips the fork a little tighter, “Really? Would that be okay?”

Injun nods, clearing up the bits of chocolate. When he stands, Jeno follows, catching Injun’s attention again, “I’ll have to ask my manager about it, but I think she’d be happy to have an extra set of hands on deck.” He hurries to add, “Of course, only if you still want to. And if you have the time, I mean.”

Over paperwork, avoiding hand-to-hand combat sessions with his current sparring partner SA Kim Rowoon (who towers easily over Jeno without question), and trying to find more ways to avoid Donghyuck, spending some time outside the Agency didn’t seem all that bad an idea.

Injun takes the fork from Jeno with a quiet _thank you_. He gives it a clean, then returns to the island, “Are you–do you have any experience with taking care of flowers?”

“Oh.” Jeno regards the slice of strawberry shortcake with interest, “I didn’t really think about that.”

“That’s okay,” Injun’s lips pull up at the corners. A weight lies heavy in Jeno’s chest, “I could teach you. How to put the flowers together for the centerpieces, it’s nothing fancy, really.”

Jeno takes a small bite of the shortcake, head spinning, “I’m looking forward to it.”

The blush returns. Injun offers timid smile, sparking a bloom of warmth in Jeno’s lungs. He forks another piece of cake into his mouth, suddenly at a loss of what to say.

–

_Contract 42h._

Jeno hates it when he has to scale buildings, especially without harness, but Chenle doesn’t see any other opportunity for entry, so he goes. The window ledges on some floors are clean, the others covered in a thick layer of dust, but Jeno doesn’t mind it; he turns his brain off for the moment until he’s pulling himself up onto the rooftop, catching his breath.

“Target en route.”

Jeno hurries.

He pulls the sniper out of the sling behind him, doing a quick sweep before waiting on the next command.

“Hotel on your right.”

Crossing the rooftop, Jeno picks the corner and rests the end of the sniper on out, kneeling on one knee for stability. His palm print activates the microdermal sensors, the same blue lights coming alive on the side.

“Black SUV.”

Jeno pulls away from the scope, focused now on the car pulling up. It stops right by the entrance, a valet dressed in black suit coming forward to open the door on their behalf. Out alone walks a man, hair slicked back, shoes shined to the nines.

“No detail,” Chenle confirms, probably checking through the security cameras on the street and thermal satellites. There’s silence over the line as the figure disappears into the building, then Chenle’s cool voice, “Clear.”

Jeno adjusts his stance, recalling the profile of the top of his head–thirty-five-year-old male, one of the loose ends from another Contract the Agency has deemed too big of a threat to ignore; currently hiding out in one of the most expensive hotels on the outskirts of the city, level twenty-eight, corner window, his bedroom.

“Five.”

Through the scope, Jeno has a clear view of the man’s bed, neatly made with the sheets tucked under the mattress. He positions his aim to the foot of the bed, considering a replacement mattress would be easier for Extraction rather than having blood be scrubbed off by hand. He takes a deep breath, waits for Chenle to resume the countdown.

Jeno didn’t really like long-range executions. He didn’t like not being on the scene, unable to hear every click in the walls and every creak in the floorboards. There’s a different sort of power in his hands whenever he could see the target face-to-face, a smaller margin of error. It’s in his control, unlike a far shot, which constrained him to a single shot.

The man is in the room not long after Chenle says _one_. Jeno rests his forefinger on the trigger, the hum of the sniper against his chest. The bullets are ice, efficient and invisible, made of deaerated water and shaped to a point. Jeno wets his lips, unblinking as the man paces the room.

“Sight?”

Jeno steadies, “Affirmative.”

There’s a pause. Then, “M command: Fire, Agent.”

Jeno holds his breath. Unlike the blurry picture on his profile, Jeno notes the heavy-framed glassed, probably a weak attempt at a disguise. The man takes two steps towards the bed, undoing the cuffs of his striped shirt. The blue and white and undone buttons stir something in Jeno, but the target is affirmed. He exhales–and pulls the trigger.

“Received. Extraction in two.”

—

“Who’re you texting?”

Jeno tucks his phone away and rises to his feet, “Nobody.”

Across him, Nine–or more warmly known as Jaemin–gives him an incredulous look. His bottle is hanging from his hand loosely, empty after their two-hour workout. It’s series of cardio and functional training that has them both tired out, but the sore muscles are always worth the pain by the end of it.

Jaemin rests his head against the row of metal lockers, staring up at Jeno in disbelief, “You just lied to me.”

Jeno sighs, pulling free a separate bag of clean clothes from his locker, “I’m not lying, Jaem.”

“You just lied to me again!” Jaemin shifts lazily along the bench to get a closer look at Jeno’s face.

It’s things like these that makes Jeno happy they’re in different specializations.

While most of his work revolved around physicality and most often required dealing with more tangible aspects, Intelligence Agentshandled mental games and focused on the intangibles–like facial expressions and behavioral cues. Intelligence UAs did more training on data surveillance and the reading of human behavior, the art of blending in and the skills needed for them to complete their Contracts without casualties; Execution UAs focused on familiarizing themselves with firearms and perfecting aim, hiding completely in the shadows and working forward without much context.

Na Jaemin–one of Jeno’s few and well-cherished friends–is one out of the five Intelligence UAs. Tall with platinum blonde hair–which he’d insisted on dyeing in order to assimilate into the environment his last Contract was based in–and sharp features that play into his wildly good looks; the asset he uses as a distraction on a daily basis.

He’d first been a friend of Donghyuck’s during their TA days, but after accepting Donghyuck’s friendship, Jeno found Jaemin warming up to him too. The three of them trained long and hard together, forging a friendship that’d become formidable and unbreakable–even with the current spat between Donghyuck and Jaemin.

“Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” Jeno says, keeping his tone leveled. Jaemin had a knack for picking up the slightest of leaks in expressions and words, making it quite often a Herculean task to keep anything from the perceptive Agent. He grabs a clean towel from the rack, throwing it over his shoulder, “I’m leaving.”

“How long have we been friends, hm?”

Jaemin asks this with purpose, grabbing a towel for himself and catching up to Jeno without much effort. He speaks with such animation and charm that Jeno pities all of Jaemin’s Contracts; falling into the unsuspecting hand of a pretty boy and divulging their deepest, darkest secrets to an Agent.

“I expected more from our friendship, Jen.” Jaemin sighs dramatically, large eyes imploring when Jeno glances at him, “Aren’t we friends? Best of friends?”

Jeno rolls his eyes, “I get now why Hyuck doesn’t like hanging out with you.”

“Please,” Jaemin snorts, “He’s just mad because I beat him in combat.” He taps his chin with a long, slender finger, “Which, by the way, has he yet mentioned when he’d be getting over that? I’ll have to put a mark on my calendar.”

“Well, it happened two weeks ago, so–I’d say you still have a couple more years to go.”

“Ha _ha_ , very funny,” Jaemin intones. He stretches his hands over his head with a small groan, “He sent me a text the other day, you know, about how happy you all were–making dumplings without me.” He pouts, “I was hurt.”

Jeno disregards it; he knows Donghyuck’d sent Jisung down to Jaemin’s department with a box of dumplings and a note from Chenle on how long to have it heated up in the microwave.

“Maybe you’d think about that the next time you decide to throw Lee Donghyuck down face first in front of the entire cohort.”

“It was a _match_. What did he expect me to do? Let him win?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno sighs. “You do know SSA Seo was watching, don’t you?”

Jaemin wrinkles his nose, “And?”

“ _And_ we all have Evaluations coming up.” Jeno twists the towel in his hands, “Getting smacked around isn’t going to make the assessment any easier. Hyuck’s been torturing himself with combat against Agent Jung over it.”

Jaemin groans, “I know. Jisung oh-so-casually mentioned it to me and told me of his boyfriend duties to ice Donghyuck’s bruises every night while Chenle was instructed to keep Hyuck’s feet elevated.”

“He’s the King, haven’t you heard?”

They map their way to the UAs’ shower room; an almost eerie similarity to the Labyrinth with its white walls and tiled floors. Jeno takes the corner stall and draws the plastic curtain before Jaemin can insist on stepping into the same one.

“Look, why don’t you just talk to him about it?” Jeno says. “I’m sure he’ll find some way to make you pay for the embarrassment you–and I quote– _bestowed_ upon him.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” Jaemin wails, takes the shower beside Jeno’s. The water starts to run and their voices float above the steam, “He’s acting as if I died on a Contract and never made it back. I even sent him health packets and Ginseng and one of those expensive little plush toys they sell at pharmacies, but he’s dead set on not forgiving me–I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

“Seriously, give him a couple of years.”

“You’re so helpful.”

“Fine then–let’s have dinner together when Donghyuck gets back. All of us.” Jeno continues before Jaemin can think to interrupt, “I’ll convince him to it, and it’ll be nice to have everyone together again.”

“That’s more like it,” Jaemin approves. He goes on disdainfully, “But don’t think I haven’t realized how you’re trying to change the subject.”

Jeno frowns, “ _You_ asked about Hyuck.”

“And you answered. Now answer this–who were you texting?”

“Like I said,” Jeno sighs, “nobody.”

“Liar!” Jaemin accuses, “You’re just riddled with lies now, aren’t you, Seven?”

“You’re being ridiculous.” But he’s not a stranger to Jaemin’s insistent persistence, forcing Jeno to yield, “It’s just my neighbor, alright?”

“Your neighbor,” Jaemin echoes incredulously. “I wasn’t aware you knew of your neighbors’ existence, much less made contact with one of them.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jeno says, for what feels like the hundredth time this hour. “I bumped into him a couple of times, and we’ve just–sort of became friends, I guess.”

“You _guess_?”

“Yes,” Jeno shampoos his hair. It smells like peach; it used to be mango-scented, “Now stop asking about it, you’re going to give yourself a headache.”

“Lee Jeno, if you expect me to shut up after you’ve revealed the fact that you’ve gotten yourself a boyfriend for as long as I’ve known you, you really don’t know me and your best friend card has been revoked.”

Boyfriend.

“What are you–I said he’s just a friend, Jaem.” For once, Jeno’s glad he’s stuck in the shower because having this conversation while looking at Jaemin’s shit-eating grin would be downright impossible, “You’re being–”

“Oh, come _on,_ ” Jaemin interjects, “You’ve been glued to your phone since stepping into the Agency and you’ve been smiling to yourself like you’ve gone mad.”

“You’re insane.” Jeno shuts the water and dries himself off, rather vigorously, “He’s just someone I met, okay?”

“That’s exactly it! You, Lee Jeno, don’t _meet_ people. You don’t even notice that boy working in the Starbucks across the street from here, flinging heart eyes at every chance he’s got–how did you of all people manage to befriend your _neighbor_?”

Jeno slips quickly into his clothes, towel slung across his shoulders, “What boy?”

“Case in point.” Jeno emerges from his stall first, moving to sit on the bench pushed up against the adjacent wall. Jaemin’s water runs, then closes, “For the sake of moving forward, let’s say that this new boy you’ve met _is_ a friend and _not_ a potential boyfriend–what’s he like? Is he taller, is that your type, Jen?”

“Is this really the place to have this discussion?”

“I’m sorry, did you want to wait until we were both old and graying?”

Jeno groans, “You can’t really want to know about him.”

Jaemin peeks from behind his shower curtain, hair slicked back, “I actually do.”

Jeno sighs, motions to dismiss him. Jaemin pops back into the stall and Jeno fiddles with the hem of the bath towel, “His name is Injun and he just moved into the building. I gave SA Kim a write-up and he cleared the background check.”

“What does he look like? Is he cute?”

Jeno rolls his eyes, “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“It’s sweet that you think I’m doing this for my own benefit.” There’s the sound of Jaemin’s towel flapping around, “How did you get his number?”

“I’m–I offered to help out at his work place.”

Jaemin pushes the shower curtain aside, revealing himself to be in a white cotton tee and comfy sweatpants. His expression distinctly unimpressed, “I’m going to need more information.”

In a single breath, Jeno recounts everything for Jaemin, worn down by Jaemin’s incessant questions to keep it to himself any longer. Besides, if he couldn’t go to Donghyuck for advice on this new addition in his life, Jaemin was equally profound in the art of processing thoughts and emotions.

Not of his own free will, the Agency did know of Jaemin’s boyfriend too; for his Mentor, SA Kim HB was notorious for being a perfectionist, and he’d dug through every single aspect of Jaemin’s life long before he was even assigned to the Agent. It was inescapable when SSA Seo sat Jaemin down one day, asked him politely if he really was dating Agent Lee over in Specialized Communications.

Official Agent Lee Minhyung, on his first year as an official employee of the Agency after just having completed his time as a UA. He currently operates in a different directorate, under Communications, as one of the liaisons to organizations outside the Agency. Minhyung, dark-haired with godly body proportions, is one of the most well-known Agents, thanks to the nature of his job, interacting with government officials and respected entities.

A lot like a glorified public relations specialist, Jaemin once said.

“You’re basically going out with him then,” Jaemin says, following Jeno back out into the hallway. He brushes off Jeno’s spluttering, “You’re not just helping out as a friend, Jen. There’s no way! I don’t see you clambering over desks to help me with paperwork.”

“That’s different,” Jeno points out, “I know just how much you _love_ paperwork.”

“Avoid it all you want, but you know I’m right,” Jaemin sing-songs. Jeno rolls his eyes and lengthens his strides, beating Jaemin to the locker room, “Love doesn’t always start out like you’ve been hit by a truck, you know?”

Jeno unlocks his locker, “Is that how you felt when you first saw Minhyung?”

“He spilled scalding hot coffee on me,” Jaemin works on his own locker a compartment away, “I remember wishing he was run over by a truck.”

“How romantic.”

“All I’m saying is–it’s a lonely job, being an Agent.”

 _Why does everyone keep saying that to me?_ Jeno grouses internally. He tucks the bag of dirty workout clothes away and pulls free the holster, fastening it to his torso, thin leather over his cotton shirt.

“Aren’t you the least bit interested in him?”

“No.” Jaemin looks up from adjusting his own holster, smart eyes scanning Jeno intently. Jeno ignores it and slides his PHK into place, “At least, not in the way you’re expecting me to be.”

“I’m not expecting you to be anything,” Jaemin reveals his own PBH 119, fastening it on snugly, “As your best friend, I’m just telling you my honest opinion.”

“That you think it’s weird I’ve made a friend outside the Agency.”

Jaemin gives him a look, “Can you blame me?”

Jeno knows he really can’t. He throws on a sweater, carefully concealing the handgun. He’d agreed to heading by _Xi’s_ to help Injun out for a couple of hours today. It’d been a debate against himself the entire night, but Jeno’d figured that with the shop so close to the Agency, he’d better be armed lest an emergency is called in and he’s found without his PHK.

“Why don’t you invite him to dinner with us? If he’s new to the area, he could use a couple more friends.”

Jeno shuts his locker, “Are you being serious?”

Jaemin shrugs, “I don’t see what the big deal is. He’s just a friend, isn’t he?”

“Donghyuck was right.” Jeno gives him one last scathing look, “You really _are_ the worst.”

–

“–and you can lay them out along the table when you’re done.”

Jeno stares at the spread of flowers across the wooden workbench. The roses and peonies are easy to pick apart, but the others never existed to Jeno before this very second.

Injun laughs, “You look really worried.”

“I–” Jeno scratches the back of his neck, smiling anxiously, “I don’t want to mess up.”

“I trust you won’t,” Injun says.

Jeno doesn’t quite believe in Injun’s faith but continues to listen anyway as he’s brought around the backroom of _Xi’s_ , learning of where the extra shears are kept, the first-aid box, and other miscellaneous things Jeno might need. Injun, on the other hand, seems oblivious to Jeno’s concern, enthusiastically showing Jeno the ropes for his temporary venture into botany.

“Before I forget!” Injun spins on his feet, rummaging through one of many boxes pied high. He turns back around with a brown apron, holding it out for Jeno, “This is for you.”

“Oh, I don’t really think I need a–”

“I know,” Injun says, but steps towards Jeno. He loops the top over Jeno’s head, “It really doesn’t seem like you’ll get your clothes dirty, but trust me–you will.”

The corner of Jeno’s lip twitch, “Are you speaking from experience?”

“Maybe.”

Injun steps closer, arms going around Jeno’s waist to tie the apron on. Jeno sucks in a deep breath, practically trying to have his PHK dissolve into his gut, and when he does, he takes in nothing but that same scent of lavender Injun always has on him, like new clothes and fresh laundry. Jeno eats the rock in his throat, eyes wandering down the curve of Injun’s nose as Injun finishes up tying the apron on for him.

From this close, Injun’s hair looks even softer to touch.

“There,” Injun says, moving away and tugging on the apron once. He gives Jeno a satisfied smile, blissfully unaware of the fact that Jeno has been holding his breath for the past fifteen seconds. “I’ll have to man the front; will you be okay alone back here?”

“Yes.”

Injun looks at him for a moment, thoughts flying behind his eyes that Jeno can’t read. He stretches out his hand, petite fingers curving around Jeno’s arm, squeezing it once, “Please don’t look so worried, you’re already doing us great help by being here.”

Jeno nods, unable to speak. Not with his heart in his mouth.

“Do you have any questions?”

Throat dry, he shakes his head.

Injun squeezes his arm again, offers another reassuring smile, “Just call me if you need me, okay?”

Jeno nods, and after Injun leaves, he curses Na Jaemin in his mind.

With the thought planted in his head, Jeno can’t help but react to the slightest movements Injun made, from his habit of licking his lips to the times he’s caught Injun humming under his breath. The blushes on his cheeks Jeno insists are thanks to the shining sun and the way he tugged on his sweaters whenever he spoke to customers, Jeno shoves them out of his mind and begins to work.

Trimming flowers while thinking about his neighbor five feet away is fine.

It’s absolutely fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

“Seven.”

Jeno stands at the sound of Doyoung’s voice, recognizing it without effort and moving on reflex. He masks a frown when he sees Doyoung approach; it was rare for him to visit the UAs’ Main Office. Whenever he’d needed to see Jeno, he’d simply ping the Agent through the company’s communication system.

“No need to look alarmed,” Doyoung says, stopping by Jeno’s desk. His eyes sweep across the neat set-up, pausing slightly over the three echeverias on the corner. Over time, Jeno’s little collection started to grow on its own. Doyoung disregards it, “I just wanted to let you know that you’ve passed the Psychological Evaluation with SSA Yoon and SSA Kim. Well done.”

Jeno blinks, unprepared for the news. He’d sat for the two-hour interview with both Mothers less than a week ago. Between helping out at _Xi’s_ and waiting for his next Contract, Jeno had spent the rest of his free time scouring the Agency database for any help on the Psychological Evaluation, preparing for any test they might through his way.

None of it could’ve helped for what SSA Yoon and SSA Kim threw his way; the entire evaluation riddled with simple tasks but clearly meant to test some other sort of skill or ability, measuring both scales on the intelligence and emotional quotient. Nevertheless, Jeno had thought he’d managed to sail through it fine. Hearing his success confirms it, lifting one of three the biggest weights currently resting on his shoulders.

“SSA Seo would like to schedule your Physical Evaluation before February,” Doyoung tells him, “So you’ll have a couple of weeks until then. I’d like to run through a few sessions with you first before you go up against Mother.”

Jeno swallows thickly.

“Exactly,” Doyoung agrees. He glances at his watch, “It’s also another three weeks until your next Contract.”

“Yes, sir.”

Doyoung nods, “Tomorrow morning, nine in the Training Hall. Be warmed up.”

“Yes, sir.”

–

The sign to _Xi’s_ is flipped to _Closed_ , but Jeno ignores it and heads in anyway. Without the bustle of customers fawning over flowers and the myriad of couples planning their wedding right in the middle of the store, Jeno finds that he likes the place best like this. Quiet and still–nothing in motion, leaving the beauty of flowers and arrangements for only him to admire.

The old shelves and rusty railings have grown on Jeno, having faced them all the times he’s spent cooped up in _Xi’s_. In the early days, he’d been cautious about exploring the tiny shop, worried about knocking over abundantly filled vases or tall plants in small pots. He tries his best to keep his long arms close to his sides whenever he moved around–none of his training ever prepared him for shuttling plants around narrow aisles.

“Holy sh– _Jeno_!”

At the sound of his name, Jeno spins to meet the top of Injun’s head. In the next moment, he’s wincing when Injun drops a stack of plastic buckets, the noise ricocheting off the walls as they clatter to the ground. He can’t help but laugh first before moving to help gather the smaller buckets that’d rolled away.

“You scared me,” Injun sighs heavily, looking up from where he’s crouched over to glare at the trespasser, “Again.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeno apologizes, knowing very well that his laugh makes the apology all the more insincere. He meets Injun’s irritation with a bemused smile, “I thought you heard me come in.”

Injun straightens, adjusting the buckets in his arms, “I never hear you come in, you’re like a ghost, you know? Scaring me like that in the middle of the day.”

“Technically,” Jeno follows Injun into the backroom, “It’s evening.”

“ _Technically_ ,” Injun mimics, looking over his shoulder to mimic Jeno in a way most un-Jeno.

Jeno goes along out of habit as Injun returns the buckets to their spot on the lowest shelf by the far wall. Injun’s always attentive over the tidiness of the backroom, and Jeno had learnt by the third day of this arrangement that Injun didn’t like to be disturbed whenever he was deep in thought–even if it _is_ just over the organization of assorted gardening tools. He would reach blindly for things that Jeno was there to hand him, knowing instinctively if it were the trowel or the shears Injun wanted first.

He waits for Injun to finish ticking off the mental inventory list in his head, turning around to greet Jeno finally with the half-smile he’s counted hours to see, “What’re you doing in here anyway? I thought you said you couldn’t help out.”

Jeno clasps his hands, “Is that the only reason I get to use for wanting to drop by?”

The back of Injun’s neck turns vermillion, a sight he isn’t a stranger to. It still takes him back a month to the day he’d first met Injun, blushing to the nines every other minute.

“You say that as if it isn’t the only reason you come by.” The annoyance in Injun’s voice is as clear as day. He putters around the room, tucking things away neatly and sweeping bits of fallen leaves into the bin in his hands, “The only other reason being the fact that Madam Lee loves the sheer number of customers you rake in with your good looks,” he glances at Jeno furtively, “or so she gushes.”

Jeno leans against the wooden workbench, “You sound jealous, Jun.”

“Of what? Your ridiculously coiffed hair that everyone seems to swoon over?”

“Do _you_ like my hair?”

“No.”

Jeno ignores the rejection, inching closer to where Injun is pointlessly fussing over the arrangement of the pens in the penholder. He stifles the urge to reach for Injun’s hand, “Really? You won’t believe that I’d come by just to see you?”

Injun whirls around, eyes almost falling out of his head. The red on his cheeks turn bright, coloring all the way to the base of his neck. Jeno breaks into a grin–if there’s anything he’s learnt over the past month is that he _loved_ teasing Injun. Nothing brought him as much joy as when Injun would jump over their hands brushing or when Injun would startle whenever Jeno winked at him from across the store.

Donghyuck called it flirting, Jaemin called it the early stages of dating.

Jeno thinks it’s… well, he didn’t exactly have a word for it.

“What are you talking about,” Donghyuck had hit him on the back of his head with a manila folder. “You have to define the relationship, Jen–you can’t just be on the fence with someone.”

“I agree,” Jaemin mirrored. “You _say_ he’s not interested in you, but how do you know?”

Jeno dodged another one of Donghyuck’s perfect swings, “I missed the times you guys were at each other’s throats and not forming a coalition against me.”

Telling his best friends about Injun over lunch is as far as Jeno will go to have them involved. He’s kept everything else for himself–the times he’d skipped out on lunch to bring Injun meals whenever he was too busy to leave, the times he’d stay past the time needed just so Injun wouldn’t have to walk home alone, the times he’d strain to hear Injun’s laugh through the thin wall separating the counter and the backroom.

He would never survive any conversation with Donghyuck and Jaemin if they knew how Jeno waited by his door until nine in the morning every day, knowing that Injun left home at exactly then; if they knew he’d take the metro with Injun, despite it being a longer walk back to the Agency; if they knew that Jeno’s head were more than often filled with thoughts of Injun, of their constant bickering he’d think to stem out of affection, of the way Jeno wondered whether he could compare Injun to the way he felt about the rest of his friends–the only others he’d ever felt _alive_ with.

Absolutely not.

Despite Jaemin’s constant demands for Injun to be introduced to them, Jeno’s resolve never falters. He didn’t want to have to deal with anything that might ruin the stability he’s found now; the company and ease he’s found with Injun. There was no reason to have to talk about something more–not with someone outside the Agency.

Over his usual sleepless nights, he’d thought to speak with Doyoung about Injun. He’d never kept anything from Doyoung–ever. It was like a broken dam between them; there truly wasn’t anything he couldn’t go to Doyoung about, but he just couldn’t bring Injun up. About how he’d thought of Injun more than he should, about how the highlight of his days was whenever he crossed the threshold to _Xi’s_ , about how there’s quiet voice in his head that’s urging for _something more_ , for Jeno to step into the unknown.

But the more he thought about it, the worse of an idea it became. If he told Doyoung, as his Mentor, Doyoung would definitely have to report it to SSA Seo. It would reflect badly on Doyoung; Jeno would have to deal with being a disappointment to, not only Doyoung (and by relation Taeyong, who’s the closest figure to a mother he’ll ever have) but, the Agency as well.

Would they make Jeno move out of the apartment building? Would he have compromised the Donghyuck and Jaemin’s positions, having mentioned them to Injun? Would the Agency insist on letting Jeno go?

He couldn’t let that happen.

The Agency is his _life_.

As much as Injun could be something else, there couldn’t be anything more.

“You’re such a flirt,” Injun accuses now, brows furrowing together tightly. He picks up the trash bin and pushes past Jeno, “It’s no wonder Madam Lee thinks all of our customers return just to see you.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Injun says. He dumps the leaves and unwanted stems into the compost bin, “And don’t say it’s not because I heard you compliment a boy’s hair clips the other day when he came in to buy roses.”

Jeno stares incredulously, “Is that a crime?”

“He bought two _dozen_ roses.”

Jeno blinks, confused.

“You practically ripped him off, Jeno,” Injun says flatly. He only says things flatly when he thinks Jeno’s being purposefully stupid, “He was buying roses for his mother’s birthday, not for–running someone over with his bike while on his newspaper route.”

Jeno sits in silence for more than a moment, “Are you sure this isn’t you being jealous?”

“Stop saying that.”

“Stop acting like it.”

Injun’s gaze flickers from the ceiling to Jeno’s face, “What could I possibly be jealous of.”

Jeno hides the smile bubbling to the surface. Watching Injun get all flustered did the wildest things to his heart, “I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I’m not jealous. And I’m not talking to you.”

Jeno trails after Injun, back out to the front of the store, “What? Why?”

Injun ignores this, choosing instead to check once more that the register’s empty, locking it up noisily. He locks the front door and goes through the closing routine, Jeno on his heels all the while.

When they retreat to the backroom, Jeno reaches for the chair under the workbench and sits with a big sigh. He says nothing, but sighs once more to have Injun glance at him once out of curiosity, “And I really thought we could go out and celebrate tonight too.”

“What?” Injun pauses where he’d been flipping through the book of upcoming orders, “Celebrate what?”

Jeno angles his chin away and sighs, baiting Injun with ease.

“Tell me,” Injun says, forgetting all else. He hurries up to Jeno, hand immediately finding its place on Jeno’s arm. He squeezes, like he always did when he wanted to wrangle information off Jeno, “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno sighs, painfully dramatic. Years with Donghyuck and Jaemin has taught him well, “It’s no big deal, I guess.”

“Lee Jeno,” Injun warns, holding to both of Jeno’s arms tight now. He shakes Jeno a little, who lets himself be shaken. Something crosses Injun’s expression, “Did something happen at work? Is it about that promotion?”

The Final Evaluation. Jeno had mentioned it briefly–as per the Agency’s strict privacy laws and the cover noted in the Agency Handbook–when Injun asked about his job one evening. He’d told Injun of the Agency as a high-profile investment banking firm, hence the secrecy. It was easy to tell Injun of things, Jeno found, always happy to see Injun listening attentively, just like he did whenever Injun told him of his customers for the day. There was nothing he felt like he needed to hide from Injun, who was simply on the perfect wavelength he was.

Sans being a contract killer, that is.

Jeno looks at him curiously, “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

“Did you get promoted?”

“Well not really,” Jeno caves. A growing routine for him to when it came to Injun, “But I made it through one of the–interviews for it, so I thought–”

“You–”

Injun releases Jeno’s arm to throw himself against Jeno, hugging tightly. Jeno near stumbles off the chair but he rights himself before they both do, hands finding their way naturally around Injun’s narrow waist. Injun is warm against him, and his voice is muffled,

“Congratulations–I knew you could do it.”

Jeno recalls the time he’d been so lost in his thoughts over the evaluation that he’d unwittingly snipped the heads off three red roses. He was reaching for a fourth when Injun had caught him, in time to save a poor rose from being beheaded.

“I’m sorry,” Jeno had said, looking guiltily at the dying roses. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

“It’s fine,” Injun laughed. He slid them into a book and mumbled something about dried press flowers and potpourri, “They’re not broken, Jeno.”

He’d sat Jeno down and made a mug of tea, listening closely to Jeno babble on about the enormous workload of supposed investment portfolios and interviews he’s had to endure. Injun was always kind with his encouragement, seeing the bright side of things, and offering more tea–a fragrant blend of what Injun calls _blue tea_ –whenever Jeno needed it.

It didn’t help that the guilt of lying to Injun over his job was growing increasingly quick with every passing day. Lying has never been a problem for Jeno–he’s entire identity and survival during Contracts depended on it, in fact–but it’s not the same with Injun. Not with his sweet voice and tender touches, the little squeezes to Jeno’s arm that drove Jeno up the wall and off the building, the half-smiles Injun gives him whenever he promises to try his best through the nerves.

Lying is one thing, lying to Injun is–it’s something else.

Things are changing.

“That makes one out of the both of us, but–thank you,” Jeno breathes, closing his eyes at the smell of Injun’s lavender laundry softener and a hint of something else he can’t quite yet pick apart. He stomps on the withering feeling in his chest when Injun starts to pull away.

There’s always been something addictive about touching Injun. Not in any way perverse, no. It’s–innate, how comforting it is to have his hand on Injun’s shoulder, to ruffle up Injun’s hair, to playfully grab at Injun’s wrists to spin him around.

It felt right. It feels right.

Jeno didn’t like to think about how _right_ it feels. There’s no way a touch could feel so right–but with Injun–it’s far too easy. Everything about their relationship was easy–starting out slow and cautious, their friendship bounding across levels into something Jeno can’t deny he’s loving.

His hand ghosts over Injun’s hip, barely touching. Anticipation bubbling, he wonders, “So? Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Jeno expects another smile thrown his way, but Injun just stands, snug between Jeno’s legs. His eyes so very bright. His expression twists, and Jeno feels it in his gut. A bubbling fizz spreads in his chest, tightening. He holds his breath, suddenly overly conscious of the distance between them. 

“Dinner?”

“Dinner,” Jeno repeats.

Oh.

Jeno hears it himself then.

Not dinner.

_Dinner._

_Oh._ Jeno’s head spins, _He’d thought I’d asked him out_ _._

Injun’s voice barely goes above a whisper, “What–did you mean by that?”

“That was just–”

Jeno starts to say, but the look on Injun’s face doesn’t fade, the surprise and confusion so explicitly reflecting the fact that he hadn’t seen this coming. As if the thought has never crossed his mind, not even once–while it’s been running around Jeno’s for weeks. And now, Injun–Injun looks as if Jeno’s proposed the worst idea known to mankind.

Red-hot embarrassment flurries through Jeno. He bolts to his feet, suddenly feeling all too exposed. He hadn’t yet sorted his own emotions, his own feelings–but now, with it being so clear that Injun had never saw him in the same light–there was nothing left to think about.

He no longer had to worry about Donghyuck and Jaemin bugging him to have Injun join them for lunch, no longer had to think about sitting Doyoung down and let spill on how his unsuspecting neighbor had turned into a _crush_ , no longer had to think about facing the words eating away at his heart.

Jeno tears his eyes from Injun, “Sorry. I have to go.”

He’s through the threshold of the store’s back entrance when he hears Injun, _Wait–Jeno–_ but he keeps going, already tightening the lid of thoughts in his mind. There’s a crack down his middle, threatening to split him in half–having never had encounters like this, not even on Contracts, in trainings–he was never trained for this.

He was never trained for anything like Injun.

The PHK is heavy against him.

It’s on his third step out in the back alley that Injun’s grip is firm around Jeno’s wrist, tugging hard to have Jeno dig his heels into the ground.

Jeno knows breaking free of Injun’s steady hold and dashing off is a formidable idea, but he chooses instead to root himself to the ground. He keeps his gaze trained to the ground, heart still pounding madly in his chest, _why did I say that?_

Even without words, he can hear Injun think–think of what to say now that there’s this giant wedge between them, think of what to do to have the last five minutes be erased off the face of the Earth.

“Sorry,” Jeno says. Injun’s hand is cold around his wrist, and it’s the hardest it’s ever been for Jeno to clear his expression, to keep his voice levelled, “I forgot I told a friend I’d have dinner with them–”

“Wait.” Jeno can’t hear anything, heart and breath roaring in his ears, “What did you–I don’t understand, did you–what did you mean?”

Jeno yanks himself free and flees, sparing no looks back.

–

“Focus!”

Jeno is slow. He picks up Doyoung’s movement too late, torso twisting and shoulders digging painfully into the foam mat. Sharp fingers are pressed into the back of his shoulders and Jeno bites on the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. He forces himself up to his palms, the momentum throwing Doyoung off his back.

Doyoung is standing again in virtually no time, hand knife loose in his right hand. Jeno follows, a second slower, light on the balls of his feet. He raises his arms out in front of him in a ready stance, covered by protective leather that’s already tasted metal swipes more than Jeno’s willing to admit.

“You’re distracted.”

Jeno shakes his head, keeps his breathing even. He goes for Doyoung’s ankle, anticipating Doyoung would jump away and aiming for it three inches higher. Doyoung sees this, tucking his legs in; Jeno’s fingers graze the soft material of his training suit.

The hand knife is down on him again then, Doyoung nicking his left arm. Jeno hops away at the sound of the Velcro being scratched, distantly wondering the state of his arm if it weren’t for the protective sleeve.

“Stop.” Doyoung straightens from his ready position, hand on his hip. He stares Jeno down, “What’s gotten into you?”

Jeno digs the heel of his foot into the mat, “Nothing.”

“Is this how you’ve been handling training with Agent Kim?” Doyoung twirls the hand knife in his hand, scanning Jeno from head to toe, “If it is, I’ll have to have a word with him.”

“It isn’t,” Jeno says immediately.

Rowoon is a nice Trainer; he didn’t make Jeno spar with weights and oftentimes ended sessions early so they could get frozen yogurt together in the Agency cafeteria. The nice lady always gave them extra chocolate chip sprinkles.

“I’m sorry.” Jeno relaxes, arms hitting his sides heavily, “You’re right, I–I’m a little distracted today.”

“What by?”

The past week filled with pure torture over the fact that he’d asked Injun out; whether or not he meant it, it definitely came across like he did. If that wasn’t enough, running away and avoiding anything Injun-related has seriously been enough a sign.

It’s been a whole week since he’s bumped into Injun in the hall or overstayed his welcome at _Xi’s_. More than anything, Jeno’s realized that he hadn’t been meeting Injun by coincidence at all–the back of his mind had been strategically coordinating their schedules and sneaking off to steal extra time with Injun. And without these planned twists of fate, there’s been a medium-sized Injun-shaped hole in Jeno’s time.

“Just the upcoming evaluation,” Jeno says. It isn’t a _lie_ ; he does have some pretty serious concerns over having to face SSA Seo. He fidgets, “Sorry.”

“Apologies aren’t going to help you,” Doyoung says. He sighs, gestures for Jeno to take a break, “You need to focus, Seven–especially in combat. You can’t let your emotions get the better of you.”

Jeno drinks from his bottle, eyes cast to the ceiling.

Doyoung hops up on the bench, stretching his arms over his head as if he’d just rolled out of bed and not spent the last half hour sparring. He steps close to Jeno, “Everyone gets nervous around evaluations.”

“Even you?”

“Even me.” Doyoung takes a swig from his bottle, “The Mother I went against was twice my size–the only advantage I had was speed. I never would have passed the Evaluation if I relied on strength alone.”

 _That explains it,_ Jeno thinks.

“I won’t tell you not to worry,” Doyoung says, rolling his shoulders and readying himself once more, “Evaluations are nerve-wracking, but your body is in your control.” Jeno follows Doyoung out onto the middle of the mat, breathing evenly. Doyoung turns, hand knife back in his hand in a flash.

Jeno hadn’t seen Doyoung reach for it.

“Ready?”

Jeno casts his thoughts away and nods.

–

“You’re here late.”

“You’re here too,” Jeno says, shrugging his coat on. He tucks his PHK into the hidden pocket on the left, pocketing his phone in the other, “Don’t you have a scheduled Contract this week?”

“Nope,” Donghyuck hums. They fall in step naturally towards the main atrium, shoes clacking against the marble floors, “I’m on break.”

Jeno doesn’t stutter, “From Contracts?” It’s unheard of, but Donghyuck doesn’t seem all too bothered by it, nodding easily. Jeno thinks to question it, but leaves it, knowing he won’t get anything out of Donghyuck anyway, “What’re you doing here so late then?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Donghyuck evades. He doesn’t give Jeno a chance to call him out for it, “But I guess I already know since Jaem’s been telling me about how mopey you’ve gotten now that you’ve stopped going to that flower shop of yours.”

“Really? Mopey?”

“I haven’t seen you smile in three days.”

Jeno ignores that. They return to the entryway, and he readies his ID card, sliding it over the reception to clock himself out. Donghyuck hands his over too–unlike Jeno’s, it’s fashioned to look like a credit card, thumbprint on the back over where the security code is meant to be–retrieving it with quiet thanks.

“Are you ever going to tell us what happened?” Donghyuck asks, following Jeno closely as he places his palm against the reader to let them out. “Or you could just tell me–Jaem doesn’t have to know.”

“How quick of you to throw your comrade under the proverbial truck,” Jeno drawls.

“He’ll be fine, I just–”

Donghyuck is cut off by the sudden appearance of another figure in the Labyrinth with them. Jeno nods politely and when he lifts his eyes, he realizes he’s never seen this Agent before.

Tall–almost as tall as SSA Seo, which is a rare enough sight–with dark brown hair styled perfectly to reveal clearly his sharp features. His eyes are large, taking up more space than what Jeno considers to be regular, accompanied by a tall nose and plump lips. He’s unrecognizable, but judging from his posture and attire, it’s no doubt he’s part of the Agency.

His eyes jump from Donghyuck’s face to Jeno’s, pausing for a heartbeat. Jeno wonders if he’s supposed to be recognized by an Agent he’s never met, but before he can entertain the thought, the Agent is walking into the main chambers, footsteps silent.

“Anyway,” Donghyuck continues on indifferently, “are you going to tell us what’s going on with you or not?”

Jeno groans. It’s starting to feel like he spends half his life running from Donghyuck and Jaemin’s questions, the other half of it from how own, “Are we still talking about this?”

“We’re your friends, Jeno, what do you expect?” Donghyuck spins on his heels, walking backwards, eyes set on Jeno’s, “You’ve been acting–different lately. Seriously, what gives? Is this about Injun?”

Panic pricks Jeno’s skin, “We’re in the Agency.”

“You know as well as I do the Labyrinth is nothing but cement and ceramic tiles,” Donghyuck says, but lowers his voice, “Why are you hiding things from us, Jen–we’re your friends. _Best_ friends.”

“I’m not hiding anything.” A lie this time, but Jeno can’t find it in himself to feel guilty over it, “I’ve been busy with SA Kim and trainings, there’s nothing you guys have to worry about–I’m not a child.”

“Doesn’t help that you act like one sometimes,” Donghyuck mutters. He holds on to Jeno’s shoulder lightly, “I’ve already told the kids that I won’t be home for dinner, so will you at least trouble me with your worries today?”

Jeno jabs the inconspicuous button on the wall, unveiling the sliding doors of the glass elevator. He lets Donghyuck hook their arms together, “Will you please let this go?”

“No.” The doors slide shut, and Donghyuck moves to rest his head on Jeno’s shoulder, “I know you don’t notice it, but you have to know Jaemin and I do.”

“What?”

“You’ve been–different–ever since you started talking to that flower boy,” Donghyuck says. “And now that you’ve supposedly stopped seeing him, you’re back to how you were. All haggard and weak and stuffing yourself with disgusting takeout.”

“You’ve never even tried it.” Jeno makes a face, “And how would you know what I’m eating at home.”

Donghyuck taps his nose twice, “I don’t know what that boy did to you, but he had to be doing something right.” The doors reveal a luxurious lobby and they head out, Donghyuck still attached firmly onto Jeno’s arm, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you pulling yourself away from me before this all happened.”

Something flares in Jeno’s chest, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Donghyuck’s tone matches the frigid cold of November as they step out onto the sidewalk, rolling his eyes and leading the way down the street, “I’ve gone through enough Observation Training to know when my best friend is ignoring me, or at least trying to.” He pulls on Jeno’s arm gently, “You owe me an explanation.”

With everything falling into his lap, Jeno wonders what’s ever the point of keeping secrets anymore. He keeps his eyes forward, “You were busy with the move to the new apartment, with trainings, with Jisung and Chenle. Jaemin was busy with Minhyung’s promotion and finding things out between them–I just gave you both the time you needed.”

Donghyuck is silent a moment.

Jeno can feel Donghyuck urging for his attention, but he doesn’t look. He knows it’s a stare so filled with concern that it’ll have pressure building in his chest. He can only guess the pieces Donghyuck’s gathering in his mind–how obvious had it been that Injun managed to fill the gap so quickly? With his plants and his lavender softener, with his half-smiles and the way he hid his laugh with the back of his hand, with his incessant blushing and the habit of pulling on his sleeves.

How preoccupied Jeno had been with Injun? To the point he hadn’t noticed returning to Donghyuck and Jaemin’s so easily, no longer holding the bitterness in his heart. To the point he’d started to look at things different. To the point he’d stopped worrying about sleepless nights.

Injun, if anything, is one of the better distractions Jeno’s come across during his time as an Agent.

Donghyuck licks his lips, “You’re not alone.”

Jeno’s skin crawls at the blatant expression, “I’m not.” His clears his throat to rid the huskiness, “I mean, I think I thought I was at some point. But I don’t anymore.”

“Jen,” Donghyuck sighs. He hugs Jeno’s arm, always affectionate, “You will always have us, you know? We’re your friends, we’re your family. Even if we’re busy, we’ll make time for you. We’d never leave you behind. You don’t have to depend on–” his pauses, switching courses, “Jaemin and I are here for you, and so are the kids and Min. We’ve never left, we never will.”

Jeno says nothing, refusing to dwell on the flicker of warmth curling up where Donghyuck’s holding onto him. His legs take him down to the Chinese restaurant with good _chow mein_ , granting the both of them enough time to let their conversation sink in. As often as Jeno’d spent nights thinking about it, he didn’t ever think he’d hear it be told back to him–by Donghyuck of all people.

“Let’s get takeout,” Donghyuck says, pulling away to grab a menu from the counter. He gives the pages a thorough scan, “I haven’t been to your place in ages.” He gives Jeno a wry smile, “Gotta make sure you aren’t living in complete filth, hey.”

Relief floods Jeno’s veins.

“What’s good here?” Donghyuck asks, “Other than that container of oil you have so much praise for.”

Jeno fights the urge to roll his eyes, pointing out a couple of other dishes he’s had before. They get to ordering and are told to wait to be called, so Donghyuck finds them a spot near the entrance. A gust of cold wind has Donghyuck zipping his coat up to his chin, fumbling with it.

Jeno shoves his hands in his pockets, watching his breath puff white as he spoke, “I asked him out.”

Donghyuck nods, and sometimes Jeno hates how adept in concealment both Donghyuck and Jaemin are. Not to say he isn’t the same himself, but it’d be nice to know if either of his best friends were at the very least surprised or shocked by anything he has to share.

“I’m assuming he rejected you.”

Jeno closes his eyes, “I guess.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like him?” Donghyuck huddles close, parka rustling, “That’s a big jump to take.”

“I didn’t exactly plan on it,” Jeno mutters. He inhales deeply and holds his breath, trying to find words. He’d played the evening over and over, dissecting every second, attempting to pick the second the situation went out of control. “I asked him out to dinner, just as friends, I suppose–I didn’t think he was going to take it as a _date._ ”

“Did you tell him that?”

“No.” Jeno picks at the seams of his pocket, “He clearly didn’t think about the possibility of it, and I didn’t know what to else to say so I ran off.” He laughs, sour, “I hadn’t known I wanted to ask him out. But he rejected me before I could even think it.”

Donghyuck lifts a hand, motioning for Jeno to take it. He does obediently, and Donghyuck tangles their fingers together, like he did when Jeno botched one of his training sessions with Doyoung in their first year.

Jeno had forgotten how effortless it is, talking to Donghyuck.

But he can’t help comparing how warm Donghyuck’s hand is to Injun’s, whose are always cool and dry. Jaemin’s hands were always warm too, most often covered in black hand wraps and rough whenever he tried to grab Jeno by the nape.

Thinking back, Injun was never particularly shy about his touches–fingertips brushing along Jeno’s hands whenever he tried teaching Jeno some flower arrangement techniques, pads of his fingers digging softly into Jeno’s arm whenever he wanted something, palm of his hand resting lightly on the small of Jeno’s back whenever he needed Jeno out of his way.

That should be forgotten by now.

“Why don’t you come back to my place tonight?” Donghyuck reasons, “Doesn’t seem too fun an idea to go home now. You can stay over too, if you want.”

Jeno rubs his eyes, “I wouldn’t be intruding?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something to do.”

“Jeno.”

Ah.

He lets go of Donghyuck’s hand, turning sharply to the right.

There Injun stands, close enough for Jeno to notice the blush on Injun’s cheeks and the pink on the tip of his nose. His eyes shine under the yellow hue of the streetlight, glassy. It’d been five days–six, maybe–but Injun looks even smaller now, wrapped tightly in a black woolen coat and a mustard yellow scarf looped twice. He wrangles his hands in front of him, lips chapped from the wintery air.

Jeno smiles tightly, not knowing quite what to say.

Luckily enough, Donghyuck does, “Hi. You must be a friend of Jeno’s?” He laughs shortly, “We don’t see many of those living and breathing.”

Injun inhales sharply. He seems to collect himself quickly enough to respond, approaching with his shoulders rolled back, “I am. Hwang Injun,” tersely, “and you are?”

“Just a colleague of Jen’s,” Donghyuck says smoothly. He shakes Injun’s hand once, “Are you here to get dinner as well?”

“I am,” Injun says again. His eyes dart to Jeno, then back to Donghyuck, “Have you ordered?”

Jeno swallows thickly, watching the exchange of his two worlds.

“We have,” Donghyuck says. He touches Jeno’s shoulder, “Which reminds me, I should probably check if they’ve called on our number.” He smiles, supposedly charming and congenial, “I’ll let you two catch up.”

Donghyuck takes his leave, giving Jeno a loaded look when he passes Injun, slipping into the restaurant and leaving Jeno on his own.

The temperature rises when Jeno meets Injun’s gaze again.

“Sorry,” Jeno starts. Judging from Injun’s wide eyes and shallow breaths, their silent conversation seemed far likely to continue if he didn’t speak first, “I haven’t been by the shop in a while.”

“That’s okay,” Injun says immediately. He bites on his lip, as if regretting his haste, “We–we’ve been busy at the shop. Without your help. Not that I’m saying that it’s your fault–because it’s not–I mean–I was just–” he sighs, frustrated.

Jeno nods, hating the awkwardness. He misses the simplicity of their conversations; over time spent in the backroom of _Xi’s_ , Jeno had started to successfully chip away at the wall Injun had built around his cute-but-grumpy self. He was unusually excited whenever Injun let slip his innocent demeanor and, instead, had the chance to use those witty replies he’s always got tucked up his sleeve.

Jeno looks to his shoes now, the tips of his sneakers a dirty black from all the slugging around he’s been doing. Injun’s shoes, on the other hand, are a spark white. Brand new, almost.

“How–how have you been?”

“Fine.” Jeno cringes inwardly, he hadn’t meant that to be so curt. “I’ve been okay. Busy. With work.”

“Right, with the promotion.” Injun says softly, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Jeno says. He crosses his arms, hopes to hug himself warm, “Sorry, but I think–I think I should go.”

“Oh.” Injun nods, unblinking, “Okay.”

Jeno offers a smile, “It was nice seeing you.”

“You–you too.”

“Bye.”

Injun parts his lips, “Bye.”

Jeno grips tight onto his coat, ignoring the banging in his chest. His knees creak as he forces himself past Injun, carefully keeping his distance. This would be best for them both–no loose ends. Injun would be safe from properly rejecting Jeno, and Jeno would save himself another round of rejection.

He catches sight of Donghyuck by the register, wallet in his hand. Jeno untangles his arms to pull on the door, only to have his wrist caught behind him.

His first thought is to pull away, but Injun has him spinning around again, with that surprising strength of his. Jeno lets himself be pulled, weak–so, _so_ weak. He expects nothing, mind blank as Injun searches his eyes. Without a word, Injun closes the distance between them, letting Jeno’s wrist free in favor of holding Jeno still by his shoulders.

Injun doesn’t speak. He levels his gaze, watching Jeno sternly.

Jeno thinks to say something, _do_ something, but he’s too slow.

Injun’s lips touch his, and Jeno stops working. Injun’s eyes are screwed shut, but Jeno can’t _move_. His arms stick tight to his sides even as Injun’s hands squeeze his shoulders firmly, holding onto Jeno like a lifeline. Jeno struggles to breathe–he doesn’t know _how,_ brain occupied with the pressure of Injun’s lips.

On his.

They’re soft and it’s intimate and Jeno can’t remember the last time he’s bothered to put on chapstick. The smell of lavender is back, and Jeno is eternally grateful for it. It gives him the needed kick in the heart to regain control over his limbs, eyes fluttering shut, hands finding their way to Injun.

He feels Injun breathe a sigh–of relief, he assumes–hands smoothening along Jeno’s shoulders to wrap his arms around Jeno’s neck. Jeno eventually finds the right time to breathe too, moving his lips whenever Injun did, feeling his heart soar for what is definitely the very first time.

When Injun pulls away, his lips are kissed a deep pink.

Jeno opens his mouth to say something, but Injun kisses him again, and he decides he doesn’t mind anyway. He kisses back, too lost in it to bother resisting the shivers rolling up his spine. Injun kisses slowly, tongue darting out to lick at Jeno’s lip, a whimper in the back of his throat.

Jeno considers pushing Injun against the brick wall, feeling Injun legs weaken, but Injun is pulling away again. This time, he takes Jeno in a bone-crushing hug, tucking his chin over Jeno’s shoulder. Jeno struggles to gather his senses, knowing only to move and hold Injun close to him.

He brings a hand up to caress the back of Injun’s head, carding through Injun’s hair, “We should–we should probably talk.”

Injun nods, but releases Jeno only heartbeats later. He doesn’t truly let Jeno go, tangling their hands together as Donghyuck did Jeno earlier. Like he remembered, Injun’s hands are cool and they fit perfectly in his

“What about your friend?” Injun asks, sticking close.

Jeno licks his lips, tasting Injun on them, “He’ll understand.”

But when he turns to look, he finds Donghyuck gone. The lady by the register, however, is waving him in, so he goes. She duly informs him that Donghyuck’d paid for both their meals, and ordered an extra serving of _chow mein_ for Jeno to take home as well. Jeno thanks the lady, collecting their dinner in one hand, the other still locked with Injun’s.

It shouldn’t be too surprising, missing Donghyuck take his leave, but Jeno truly isn’t all that excited for when he has to see both Donghyuck and Jaemin on Monday–for they’ll surely grill him for answers.

Injun squeezes his hand, pulls him back to the present. Jeno forgets about Donghyuck and Jaemin and Evaluations and the Agency; he leaves Monday’s worries for Monday and leads the way back home.

—

“Here,” Jeno says, holding a mug of tea out for Injun as he settles onto the couch. He keeps a reasonable distance, smiling when Injun thanks him quietly. Jeno watches him take a tentative sip, “Is it too hot?”

Injun shakes his head.

Jeno busies himself with his own mug, steeping the teabag a little longer, watching the water turn dark. Beside him, Injun’s taken to combing through his apartment intently, like a child in an amusement park for the very first time. Jeno studies him out of the corner of his eye, wonders what Injun’s thinking as he takes in the plain white walls and zero personality.

The Agency has always encouraged Agents to decorate their homes and weren’t harsh with furnishing expenditures, but Jeno never took the time to do any shopping. He didn’t exactly have the desire to create a home on his own.

He did own a few cushions and mugs that were gifted to him on occasion, but nothing much else. Agency-related weapons and communicators were all hidden perfectly in the top-most drawer of his bedside table, in easy reach in case of an emergency.

Injun sets the mug down on the coffee table, freeing his hands once more. Jeno senses that he should follow, placing his mug beside Injun’s and folding his hands over his lap.

“I’ve missed you,” Injun admits, softer than a whisper. Jeno’s ears pick it up anyway, the words chasing a searing warmth to his cheeks. Injun fidgets, “I know it sounds stupid, I mean, it’s only been a week, but I–really did.”

Jeno wets his lips, “I–missed you too.” Injun fiddles with the tassel on one of the couch cushions, prompting Jeno to keep going, “And I wanted to apologize. For taking off that day.” He swallows, remembering Injun’s confusion, “For not explaining what I meant, I–I didn’t think I meant to ask you out, I wasn’t going to.”

Injun pauses, “You weren’t?”

“No, I’m–” Jeno fixates on the redness over his knuckles, an attempt to ground himself, “I’m new to this.”

“This?”

“To the anticipation, the heart palpitations, the sweaty hands,” Jeno mumbles, “to the kissing–to you.” He digs his heel into the carpet, laughing soullessly, “I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”

Injun edges closer, reaching to cover Jeno’s hand with his own. It has Jeno looking up to that same smile his thoughts have been haunted by, “To be honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing either.”

 _No_ , Jeno thinks. _I have to think of the Agency. Of the future._

“What does this mean,” Jeno asks, before he’s too enamored by Injun and turns into mush. “What are we doing?”

Injun says nothing, but his eyes widen, bewildered.

“I mean,” Jeno gapes.

_I mean, I’m a contract killer working for a secret government agency and being with you would mean placing you in danger and I might not know anything, but I know you mean too much to me to have that happen._

“Do you want us to be together?”

Injun nibbles on his lip. “Do you?”

“It’s just–” Jeno bites on his tongue, the Agency’s secret on the very tip of it, “I’m sorry–it’s just complicated.”

In one swift motion, Injun retracts his hand and rises to his feet. Jeno follows, raising his palms forward to keep Injun from running the way he did.

“Why did you kiss me back?” Injun asks, brows furrowing. Something like distress crosses his face, “You shouldn’t have kissed me back.”

“What? No,” Jeno’s starting to confuse himself, “I wanted to kiss you, Jun–I like you.”

That doesn’t appease Injun, “You what?”

“I like you,” Jeno repeats, affirming it for the first time. A lot of firsts he’s conquering in an hour, “That’s why I kissed you. I like you; I have–for a while now.”

That does it. Injun’s brows smoothen out, lifting in surprise. He blinks away from Jeno, staring down at their mugs, thinking hard. Jeno wishes he could hear the thoughts in Injun’s head, wishes it could guide him on what to say next. Injun thinks long and hard, to the point Jeno’s counting the number of heartbeats it’s taking Injun to answer.

“What are we doing?”

Jeno wrings his hands, “I don’t know.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Jeno thinks of all the hours he’s spent holed up in the Agency, honing his skills, perfecting himself, yet missing entirely an aspect of love he’s absolutely lost on. He wonders if all Agents live through a revelation like this, or if he was just made wrongly.

In a low voice, Injun admits, “I like you too.”

_I like you._

Jeno takes Injun’s hand, pulling himself into Injun’s arms. He burrows his nose into Injun’s shoulders, breathing deeply. Injun’s fingers tangle themselves into the back of Jeno’s sweater, pressing close.

For once, Jeno isn’t constricted by the PHK, allowing himself to hold Injun dear.

“Can we,” comes Injun’s voice.

It sounds neither a question nor statement, and Jeno doesn’t know what’s being asked.

Perspective? Negotiation? Permission?

Jeno thinks, thinks hard. Of how just how many Agency policies he’s breaching by even _considering_ this, of how many things could possibly go wrong, of how–oh powers above–if he says no, would that mean reclaiming his previous title as Injun’s friend? An acquaintance? Someone he once knew?

Could he keep Injun a secret forever as Doyoung does Taeyong? Is he good enough to keep Injun safe? From potential vengeful unfinished Contracts, from the hands of the Agency, from himself? Would it mean having to leave the Agency?

What would he do? Where would he go?

Injun whispers, “Is this a bad idea?”

“No,” is Jeno’s immediate response, because really–it isn’t.

He likes Injun. He likes Injun and Injun likes him back, and it’s the first time he’s ever felt like this. The first time he’s ever had such comfort and times free of worries, so why should it be a bad idea?

Casting impending doom aside, Jeno clings to Injun tight.

 _I can protect him._ Jeno closes his eyes, _I can keep him safe._

Injun turns his head to kiss Jeno’s temple, nuzzling his nose along Jeno’s hairline. It’s enough to have Jeno pulling away to lock their lips together again.

Injun pushes forward urgently, letting Jeno steady him by the waist. He releases Jeno’s sweater to slide his hands up Jeno’s torso, touch cool against Jeno’s neck. Jeno parts his lips for Injun, shamelessly clutching onto Injun to drink him in. He starts to kiss down Injun’s jaw, nerves leaving him in a laugh when Injun shivers against him.

“You’re seriously,” Injun mutters, returning to his grumpy self in a second. He hides from Jeno’s lips, ducking away, “You–I’m mad at you–don’t think I haven’t forgotten.”

Jeno angles away to try and get a good look, “What’re you talking about?”

“You ran off,” Injun frowns. “I was worried. And you never came back to the store, and you were never home, or you’d come home so late and leave before sunrise–you really couldn’t have made it any more obvious that you didn’t want to see me again.”

Jeno heart doubles in size. He yanks Injun down with him as he falls back onto the couch, Injun safe in his arms.

“What are you–”

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Jeno mumbles, holding a struggling Injun tightly to his chest. Injun caves not long later, muttering under his breath and snuggling up against Jeno, “And for avoiding you.”

Injun picks at the fluff on Jeno’s sweater, then flicks it away. He mumbles, “You’re lucky I actually like you.”

“I am,” Jeno agrees. “I really am.”

_–_

It’s Monday morning when Jaemin corners Jeno in the Training Hall.

“You’re smiling again.”

Jeno exhales heavily, breaking his momentum of push-ups and rolling around to sprawl on his back across the foam mat. He glowers at Jaemin’s grin, “I hate you both so much.”

Jaemin scoffs, nudging at Jeno’s hip with his foot, “You’d better kick that habit of lying before it gets you into trouble.”

“Go away,” Jeno grumbles. He groans when Jaemin plops down beside him, starting with stretches, “This is quite in fact the opposite.”

“You’re cranky,” Jaemin tuts. He lifts his arms over his head, left hand over his right elbow, “Especially so for someone that’s just been snagged off the market.”

Jeno twists away, lying on his front, “Seriously–don’t you have better things to do?”

“You wish,” Jaemin hums, placing right hand over his left elbow. “How am I supposed to fulfill my role as your best friend if I’m not constantly on your ass about this?” He closes his eyes, feeling the stretch, “Besides, Donghyuck told me about how flower boy’s got you all soft in his hands, kissing in the middle of the sidewalk like a bunch of teenagers.”

“He–”

“–so it really only is right that you tell me all about what happened after.”

“Nothing happened,” Jeno says, on the verge of skipping out on the rest of his workout in favor of escaping Jaemin’s clutches. Even if he _did_ want to talk about Injun and things and _them_ , right smack in the heart of the Agency is definitely not the place to do it.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“I actually really–”

“Don’t answer that.” Jaemin sits tall, presses his sole together before him, and pushes his knees down to the sides, “There’s no way nothing happened, Jen.”

Jeno closes his eyes, blocking out the overhead hanging lights and the sound of Jaemin prattling on about the rudimental foundations of trust and friendship. He takes a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, and holds it there.

The weekend was–unbelievable.

It felt so surreal, having Injun in his apartment; grabbing himself hot chocolate in Jeno’s Cheshire shaped mug, helping himself to the mint chocolate biscuits in Jeno’s pantry, making himself comfortable under blankets on Jeno’s couch. Another living, breathing human in his apartment, in his home–Jeno couldn’t believe it.

And he didn’t want Friday night to end. They’d ended up on the couch together (after Injun rushed home for a shower and a set of clean clothes) going through the first half of the Marvel movies together. Jeno, though, was distracted greatly by Injun’s small hands, fiddling with them and occasionally bringing them up to his nose to sniff–even though Injun would glare at him and snatch them away.

“So,” Jeno had said slowly, watching the credits to _Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier_ roll off the screen, “Do you want to keep going?”

Injun stifled a yawn, eyelids heavy, “No, it’s–it’s getting late.” He pushed himself up from where he’d been snug against Jeno’s shoulder, “I should–go home.”

“Or you could stay,” Jeno said, lips working before his brain did.

Injun’s eyes widened, then narrowed, the corner of his lip twitching, “And what reason would I have to do that for?”

“It’s late.”

“Jeno, I live right across the hall.”

“It’s comfy,” Jeno hugged Injun’s shoulders, locking him down, “Are you comfy?”

“Maybe if you weren’t breathing down my neck.”

“Seriously.” Jeno raised a brow, “Do you really need a reason to stay over?”

“I don’t know,” Injun said. He settled his head on Jeno’s lap, legs stretched out along the two-seater couch, “I don’t know how this works. Or how it’s supposed to work.”

Jeno hummed.

“But you are comfortable,” Injun sighed, twisting to look up at Jeno. “Would it really be okay if I stayed over?”

“I think it would,” Jeno said. His plan for them both to stay glued on the couch for as long as possibly was incredibly thinly veiled. As short as a week is, Jeno had suffered and he wasn’t quite yet ready to see Injun home and let the night end, “But only if you want to.”

It took a minute or so for Injun to decide, “I do.”

That was Friday.

Saturday morning was spent at a quaint brunch place not far of a walk away, after at least a half hour of laying together on the couch, Injun comfortable in Jeno’s arms. Over soup and rice and just enough _banchan_ , it was effortless, weaving through the conversation with Injun. They spoke of books–Jeno mentioned never reading much past fiction works and Injun promised to recommended a few titles later; and of music–Jeno liked ones with a heavy bass, Injun preferred soft melodies; and of hobbies–Jeno didn’t have much, Injun said he’d done ballet when he was younger, but it never turned out to be anything more.

“There has to be something you like,” Injun had coaxed. He swirled the metal spoon around his bowl, clinking the sides as he did, “Photography? Yoga? Stamp collecting?”

Jeno gave him a look, “Stamp collecting, that’s it.”

“Hey,” Injun laughed, pinching Jeno’s finger where their hands laid connected on the table, “That’s a real hobby actual people have.”

“I’m not sure,” Jeno mulled. He considered, “I guess I’ve been a little more interested in gardening.”

“Gardening,” Injun echoed. “Because of the shop?”

Jeno cast his eyes to the table, “Because of you.” He laughed, a jerky sort of choke, mortified by himself, “Wow, that was really bad.”

“It was,” Injun agreed. He tapped on Jeno’s knuckles, the biggest smile on his face, “But you’re cute.”

Jeno really did choke that time, coughing into a napkin as Injun doubled over in laughter. He glared at Injun, but felt the humiliation fade at the sight of shine in Injun’s eyes. The blush darkened on Injun’s cheeks and all was forgiven.

The rest of Saturday was spent grocery shopping. Injun volunteered to cook them both dinner and Jeno promised to be a useful assistant. They moved in tandem, one pulling the other wherever they went, moving fluently together. Injun was proficient in the kitchen, handling the creation of three dishes at a go; dicing tomatoes as he prepared the broth, hands quick with a certain dexterity to them.

Sunday was spent mostly in bed.

Injun didn’t seem to mind the couch with Jeno again, satisfied with his spot atop Jeno, hands curled into loose fists tucked under his chin. Jeno’d woken to the feeling of Injun mindlessly playing with the hem of his shirt, shifting ever so often to get comfortable. He hadn’t said anything after waking up either, watching Injun stare out the window, pondering over the thoughts that were floating around Injun’s mind.

Eventually, hunger forced them both to tumble off the couch later Sunday afternoon. They moved over to Injun’s apartment to make use of the gaming consoles Jeno had spotted once, never having played them himself.

“Have you ever played these?” Jeno asked, sifting through the rattan box of Nintendo games by the television bench. He sat cross-legged as Injun made them tea, “They’re brand-new.”

“I don’t really have the time to,” Injun confessed. He set their drinks by the coffee table, and shuffled over on his knees to rest his chin on Jeno’s shoulder, “Or have anyone to play them with.”

Jeno picked out a friendly-looking cooking game, pushing the lot of assassin and shooting games to the side. Injun kissed him on the cheek at his choice, and Jeno wriggled to return one too. They planted themselves on Injun’s couch; Jeno had expected their teamwork to shine through the game, but Injun was burning rice and steaks and Jeno–for the life of him–could not get his character to stop running into walls.

“We suck at this,” Injun sulked, right after the screen had so very loudly announced what a bunch of losers they were. He stuffed his face into Jeno’s shoulder, tossing the red controller aside. “Why do people pay to suffer?”

Jeno laughed, kissed Injun’s crown, “I hardly think this is suffering.”

“You’re right,” Injun said. He looked up, lips curled in a devious grin, “It can’t be suffering if you’re here with me.”

Jeno groaned, “Now, _that_ was bad.” 

It’d been too good of a weekend, the best it’s ever been in a while. Jeno was more than reluctant to wake up on Injun’s couch this morning for work, wishing that time would give him another five minutes of this peace. He’d left a note scribbled on a napkin for Injun, promising to come by _Xi’s_ after work. After kissing Injun’s temple and pulling the blanket around the boy tight, Jeno’d slipped out of the apartment and returned to his own, the smile on his face impossible to wipe off.

“You look like a lunatic.”

Jeno opens his eyes, the bright light overhead suddenly blinding. Jaemin’s pink hair comes into view then, shielding the light for a moment. He studies Jeno’s face, undoubtedly picking out cues Jeno isn’t even aware existed, inspecting every inch like he’s expecting to find answers on it–which wouldn’t be completely impossible for an Agent.

“Stop doing that,” Jeno grumbles, sitting up and swatting Jaemin away. He rises to his feet, unsurprised when Jaemin follows, never one deterred by rejection, “We’re–something.”

“Have you ever considered a career in storytelling? You’re fantastic at it, Jen.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Jeno crosses the hall in long strides, “We hung out, spent the weekend together and I’m going to–”

Jaemin’s arm shoots out to stop him, but Jeno is quick too, flight-or-flight response kicking in. He ducks, looking over his shoulder to glare at Jaemin, who couldn’t care less. His jaw is on the floor, “Excuse me, I’m sorry,” he isn’t, Jeno knows, “but did you just say you _spent_ the weekend? Lee Jeno, are you telling me you–”

“No,” Jeno interjects. Jaemin looks at him skeptically, demanding an explanation, “We spent time together, that was it. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but–”

“Oh, _sure_ ,” Jaemin scoffs, “You don’t know what I’m thinking, yeah, okay.” He’s absolutely radiating joy, “What does this mean? Are you dating now? Is he your boyfriend?”

“Can you shut–” Jeno glances around. UA Zero and Five are going against one another in the boxing ring and UA Four is by the furthest wall of weights, all of them out of earshot, but Jeno isn’t willing to take any chances, “I don’t know, okay? This is all really, really new to me–I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 _Boyfriend_ seemed too simple a term; _lover_ brought on too many connotations they haven’t yet discussed.

“That’s why you _need_ us,” Jaemin whispers excitedly, practically ready to rip his gym towel into two. He grabs Jeno by the shoulders, shaking them, “We need a team meeting.”

“A team meeting?” Jeno gapes, “This isn’t some sort of Contract, you know that, don’t you?”

“If the goal is making sure flower boy sticks to you,” Jaemin gives him a knowing look, “You better bet your ass it’s a Contract.”

“You’re insane, like–actually insane.”

“Don’t fight me on this, you know Hyuck’s on my side.”

“You’re both crazy,” Jeno concludes. He’s about to tell Jaemin that there will be no such team meeting when his phone buzzes twice in his pocket, sending Jaemin off on a spiel of meeting locations and agendas they would have to get, “I have to go.”

Jaemin stops, “What? Is it him?”

“No,” Jeno reads the message once more before pocketing his phone. He shrugs Jaemin off, “It’s SA Kim, he wants to see me.”

“Fine,” Jaemin says, as if either of them had a choice. Being summoned didn’t really leave Jeno a choice. Still, Jaemin jabs a finger into Jeno’s shoulder, “But don’t think we’re done with this, Seven. Hyuck and I are definitely going to want to meet flower boy–he may have passed the background check, but–”

Jeno waves him off, surrendering, “Whatever you say, Jaem.”

Forgoing a shower, Jeno takes off on a jog towards Doyoung’s office. Did he want to see Jeno over the upcoming Physical Evaluation? Or did he make a mistake over a contract? Did Doyoung want to discuss their recent trainings? Over how distracted he was on Friday?

Jeno slows to a stop before the steel doors.

Had he somehow heard wind of Injun? That his neighbor now played a new part in Jeno’s life? Whatever part it may be, Jeno wouldn’t be caught off guard if Doyoung did hear of it.

Rarely anything passes through the Agency without it being dissected and assessed.

“Come in, Seven.”

Jeno enters, greeting with a bow. “SA Kim.”

“Take a seat,” Doyoung instructs. He’s fussing over papers strewn across his desk, ballpoint pen tucked behind his ear. He glances at Jeno briefly, “Training?”

“Cardio and strength,” Jeno says. He sits on the edge of the pleather seat, careful not to dirty it with his sweat, “I have a training simulation session with Agent Kim later.”

Doyoung nods. He pulls free a manila folder, checking the label on the side before handing it to Jeno, “Your next Contract. Five weeks from today.”

Jeno takes it, _Contract 30f._ He skims through the profile on the front–first, noting the lack of a clear photograph. It’s a man involved in the dealings of nuclear weaponry and the facilitation of a growing black market too big of a threat to national security. He closes the file, holding it close and making a mental note to set aside time to look at it in-depth later on.

“I wanted to check in on you,” Doyoung continues. He’s gaze never leaves his desk for long, but Jeno knows how observant the Mentor is. He adjusts his posture, sits a little straighter, “Did the weekend help clear your head?”

Jeno calms his heart, “Yes.”

Doyoung looks up. He blinks at Jeno, then away, “Good.” He leans away from his desk and pulls open a drawer by the side, “That’s all for today, Seven.”

Jeno stands, relieved that his legs are steady.

“Keep one of your Wednesdays free the week after,” Doyoung says, still rummaging around. “Let’s have tea then.”

Jeno nods, not questioning any further. Taeyong’s name is not to be used at the Agency, it’s ingrained in him. Enough practice has him discerning easily Doyoung’s hidden meanings and off-the-record tone.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Jeno hesitates; it doesn’t evade Doyoung, “Is there something wrong?”

_Tell him. Tell him, or you’re breaking company policy. You can trust Doyoung, you can tell him anything._

“Seven?”

Jeno shakes his head, “Nothing, sorry.”

—

For the weeks following, Jeno finds himself caught in hours and days wrapped up in Injun. Not that he minded their days littered with dates, having Injun as a constant presence in his new life. It takes Donghyuck and Jaemin days to very temporarily resign–for the term _give up_ is in neither of their dictionaries–from bugging Jeno for details on Injun, establishing a simple understanding between the three of them.

Jeno thinks he must’ve changed the minds of the gods, whatever he’d done to please them–he must’ve earned himself another chance of loving the world again.

–

“There are so many people in here,” Injun mutters. He sticks close to Jeno as a family pushing two carts rush by them, speaking loudly of plans to split up and meet again. Injun reaches for Jeno’s hand, like he was worried he might get washed away in the crowd.

“It’s a Saturday afternoon,” Jeno hums. He wants to point out that it was Injun’s idea to have their date at an IKEA on a weekend, but the surly look Injun sends to screaming children is evidence this is enough a punishment. Jeno bumps his nose to Injun’s temple, kissing it softly, “Are you okay?”

“Feels like the entire city’s shoved into this IKEA,” Injun mumbles. He pulls out his phone and taps around, brings up a list of things he’d planned on getting, “Should we get a cart?”

“I don’t think we’ll make it out alive with one,” Jeno says, eyeing the crowd.

With IKEA’s signature bright lights and open floor plan, Jeno has never felt more exposed. He wished he’d grabbed a baseball cap on the way out this morning, because the sheer number of eyes that could be on him is just too nerve-wracking.

He liked the dark and staying hidden.

The colorful placemats and towels and bowls made him feel worse than a sore thumb.

“I’ll be quick,” Injun says, squeezing Jeno’s hand. It’s creepy, really, how he can so easily read Jeno, as if he were an open book just waiting to be picked up and read. He moves to lead the way, swinging their hands, “Don’t let go.”

Jeno bites on his lip to keep his heart from falling out of his mouth, “I won’t.”

Injun grabs one of those large blue bags off the handles and gets to shopping, looking up at the signs and periodically making sure that Jeno’s had is still in his. He picks up a couple of napkins (striped and plain ones), a few kitchen towels, and a set of fluffy room slippers, going through the maze of people quickly.

Countless times did his small frame proved overly advantageous, allowing him to slip through the crowd without a hitch. Jeno, with his long arms and long legs, couldn’t quite fit into the tiny spaces Injun was leading him to. But whenever their hands threatened to part, Injun would turn in that instant and find his way back to Jeno, smile apologetic. He would hold onto Jeno again and lean in close, forgetting momentarily about the rush.

When they’re near the end of the decoration section of the market hall, Injun huddles them out of the main flow of traffic to recheck his list.

“I think I’ve gotten pretty much everything,” he announces happily, giving his bag another look. Aside from the stuff he needed, he’d also picked out a candle holder and an eighteen-pieces pack of cotton scented candles, “Did you want to get anything else?”

Jeno shakes his head, arm snaking around Injun’s waist, “Just wanted to hang out with you.”

“Oh _god_ ,” Injun snickers. His pleased smile gives him away, “How many of those bad lines do you have up your sleeve?”

“Don’t know.” Jeno grins, “Guess you’ll have to keep hanging out with me to find out.”

“I’ve seen you almost every day for the past two months,” Injun pretends to retch, “Isn’t that enough?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t wait for me to come by _Xi’s_ after work.” Jeno scoffs when Injun startles, expression crossing surprise and disbelief, “Yeah, that’s right–I see you pacing the display whenever I’m across the street. You always scamper back to the register the moment the light turns green.”

“You know about that?” Injun squeaks, turning pink at the revelation. He groans when Jeno nods triumphantly, hiding his face away in Jeno’s pullover, “This is a nightmare.”

Jeno doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but his PHK no longer stayed close like it used to. It’s become routine to hang it up alongside the holster in the hidden compartment of his closet before hopping over to Injun’s place, ensuring he would never have to answer any questions about the PHK if Injun ever grabbed him by the waist. He still slept with it whenever he slept in his own bed, as per Doyoung’s strict instructions, but there was just something about Injun that made him feel invincible–almost. It’s a dangerous feeling, he knows, but he didn’t need it, and he didn’t _want_ it around Injun.

With Injun, everything Agency-related seemed easy.

Safe.

Injun groans, “I’m torn between being embarrassed about getting caught and happy that you look out for me too.”

“Can I help with that?”

“Yes, please.”

“You feel happy.”

Injun raises his head, cheeks still bright. He goes on his tiptoes, kisses Jeno chastely. He steals two more kisses—any more would be overstepping moral codes on displays of affection–and pulls away to look Jeno straight in the eye, smiling from ear to ear.

“You’re right,” Injun bites on his lip, “I _am_ happy.”

Jeno grins, “Me too.”

Injun takes another kiss and continues their way out of the store, but on a shelf to the left, Jeno spots the section of empty pots and pulls them to a stop.

“What is it?”

“Can we go over there for a bit?” Jeno asks this while already leading the way to the various sized pots in an array of differing colors. “I just wanted to check these out.”

“Planters?”

“Yeah,” Jeno picks one with a simple, baby blue glaze. He explains, feeling Injun’s eyes on him, “I was thinking of gifting a small plant to some of my colleagues for Christmas–since the ones you’ve given me have gotten so much attention.”

“Have they now?”

“They brighten up my desk.” Jeno thinks of the palette of white, gray, and black that colored the Agency, “And received quite a few compliments.”

Injun takes their hands and presses it to his cheek, “I’m actually surprised to hear they’re still alive.”

“Hey,” Jeno clicks his tongue. “I’ll have you know that I take very good care of those plants.”

Injun coos, kissing the back of Jeno’s hand, “I’m sure you do, hm.” Jeno starts to frown, but Injun kisses it away, “You know, if you want, I could teach you how to make a planter at _Xi’s_. You could make a couple for your colleagues, rather than just,” he jerks his chin at the pot in Jeno’s hand, “buying them from IKEA.”

“What’s wrong with IKEA?” Jeno lifts a brow, “And I thought you said you didn’t know how to make them?”

“That was eons ago,” Injun says. He hugs Jeno’s arm, a reward for remembering, “Madam Lee taught me a little bit on pottery a couple of weeks ago.”

“And you haven’t made me one?” Jeno says, aghast. “I’m hurt.”

Injun’s tongue peeks out between his teeth, “Who says I haven’t?”

“Have you?”

“Have I?”

Jeno makes a face, “You’re driving me crazy.”

Injun laughs, taking the pot out of Jeno’s hand and setting it back on the shelf, gets it out of the way before wrapping Jeno’s arms around himself. He rests his chin on Jeno’s chest, looks up with the happiest grin, “You drive me crazy too.”

“Tell me again what this is supposed to be.”

“A three-layered movable tray cart thing,” Injun says, holding the instruction manual up to his nose. He’s on his knees, an arm’s length from Jeno, who’s busy pouring out packets of screws and bolts, “Have you ever built anything from IKEA before?”

 _The apartment came fully furnished, so_ –

“No.” Jeno sits back on his haunches, overwhelmed by the pieces of metal rods and trays that are somehow meant to form a storage cart. Highjacking a car and taking apart a gun is easy; IKEA is not. “Have you?”

“A table, once.” Injun flips through the manual, “This seems pretty easy–I’m sure we can do it.”

Jeno sighs, “Your confidence is admirable.”

“Why, thank you.”

Injun lays out the manual between them both and starts on the top tier of the storage cart, while Jeno began work on the sides. They move swiftly, mutely, only the occasional hum of confusion over the soft music playing through Injun’s sound system. At some point, Injun gets up to refill both their mugs and returns with a plate of apple slices with rabbit ears carved into them.

“These are too cute to eat,” Jeno says, picking one up and inspecting it closely. “How do you know how to make things like these?”

“I spend my free time watching YouTube videos,” Injun shrugs. He bites the head off one of them, rolling his eyes when Jeno feigns a horrified look, “I’ll teach you, if you want.”

Jeno grins, “Seems like you’re going to be teaching me a lot of things.”

“At least we know who’s the more capable one in this relationship. Can you hand me the screwdriver when you’re done with it?”

Jeno opens his mouth, then closes it. He isn’t sure which to address first–the fact that Injun just implied he wasn’t capable, the part about them being in a relationship (well, yes, of course, but hearing it _aloud_ ), or the bit on how casual Injun is over either of those two things.

He decides on, “I can cut fruit.”

Injun stares at him before coughing out a laugh, “I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“I know, I mean,” Jeno chews on his lip. Honestly, by now, he should just be used to the fact that he will always be putty whenever Injun’s around, “I can do things.”

“I’m sure you can,” Injun speaks slowly, “Like hand me that screwdriver?”

Jeno lifts it over his head, “Get it yourself.”

“You’re kidding,” Injun says flatly. He sighs when Jeno doesn’t budge, rising up to his knees to swipe for it, only to fall forward when Jeno pulls it away, “Hey!”

“I thought you said you were more capable in this relationship?”

“I’m also rethinking this relationship,” Injun mutters. Jeno’s jaw drops comically, in complete disbelief, raising the screwdriver higher above him. Injun makes a face but scrambles for it anyway, clicking his tongue when Jeno shuffles backwards, “Jeno!”

“Take back what you said!”

Injun leaps for it again, faster this time. Jeno taunts him, sticking out his tongue and inching further away. Injun’s expression hardens, a glint in his eyes, tracking Jeno’s every move like a fox stalking its prey. Briefly, Jeno feels cornered, the ardent overwhelming. His legs move before he thinks, ready to bolt to his feet.

Injun jumps high, surprising Jeno at the sheer height. He’s over Jeno in the next second, Jeno’s wrist locked in Injun’s hands, locked to the ground on either sides of his head. Injun’s hips settle heavily over Jeno’s waist, holding him down easily.

Jeno blinks up at Injun’s grin, momentarily stunned.

“You really are the cutest,” Injun says fondly. He leans forward to kiss Jeno quickly, stealing the screwdriver from Jeno’s hand without much effort. Sitting up, he releases Jeno and licks his lips, “And I do take back what I said–I definitely am _not_ rethinking this relationship.”

Jeno offers a terse smile. He sits up to wrap his right hand around Injun’s waist, the other hand securely on the back of Injun’s head–he flips them over, the sound of metal rattling somewhere beyond their feet. Injun gasps, legs curling around Jeno’s hips–choosing to draw close instead of push Jeno off.

Jeno raises a brow.

“Sneaky,” Injun says, more so like a compliment. He lets the screwdriver go in favor of hooking his arms around Jeno’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Jeno smiles into it, laughing when Injun yanks him down harder, “You’re too far away.”

Jeno litters soft kisses along Injun’s jaw, “I’m lying _on_ you, Jun.”

Injun makes a defeated noise, but continues to grapple for Jeno anyway. He catches Jeno’s lips with his own, a silent plea for more, groaning helplessly when Jeno complies. Injun’s glasses bump into Jeno’s nose, but he doesn’t mind it, too focused on the way Injun’s hands are sneaking under his pullover, gentle touches to the small of Jeno’s back.

Jeno breaks the kiss for air, a certain pride filling his chest at the sight of Injun blissed out and red lipped. His hair fans across the floor, mouth parted to let out shallow pants, hands still training along the hem of Jeno’s jeans.

“Your skin,” Injun babbles, swallowing thickly, “is really soft.”

“Thank you,” Jeno exhales, lips twitching in amusement, “I shower every day.”

Injun isn’t impressed, “Just kiss me again.”

Jeno does just that, lets Injun’s hands roam up and down his back, his sides. They kiss and kiss and kiss, until Jeno’s arms give out from having to hold himself up, flopping down on Injun with a loud _whumpfh_. He’s pushed over by Injun, reclaiming his position to straddle Jeno once more. Tasting like apples, sweet, and his lips so soft; Jeno can’t remember a time being so fine lying on his back, exceptionally distracted by being kissed senseless, dangers be damned.

Jeno wants this.

“I can't believe you're real," Injun whispers, hovering over Jeno and pulling back just enough to look at Jeno close. Jeno's gut pools _hot_ , watching Injun's lick his lips, eyes raking over Jeno, ravenous. “I can't believe you're here.”

“I–” Jeno gasps, feeling Injun's hands wander further, “–am.”

He grips Injun’s hips a little harder, pulling a soft, pleased noise from Injun. His mind starts to run–there’s no denying how good things are like this, with Injun as his and being Injun’s. Not even the subsiding warnings of SSA Seo’s voice ringing in his mind can stop him from wondering–would it really be so bad, telling Donghyuck and Jaemin everything? Of how he’s found a home in Injun, the first in his life–the first in his life he’s cared for someone outside the Agency? Outside of that life?

Would it really be that bad if he tried to sit Doyoung down and explain that he’s finally found _something_ that has him looking forward to waking up the next day? That the nights he’s spent on Injun’s couch–in Injun’s arms–have been the best rest he’s gotten in a long time? That he might have found someone that brings out the best in him?

That Injun didn’t fix him.

It wasn’t anything like that–Injun just pushed him in the right directions, gave him the right encouragements, the right kisses whenever he needed them. That the Agency isn’t the only thing out in the world for him–that he could have as many plants as he wanted, as many cakes in spite his diet, as many messy trips to IKEA. Jeno hadn’t seen the point outside the Agency, but Injun was there to show him–whether or not he knew that was what he was doing–and he was there, plainly every step of the way.

As if he were planted by the higher powers, the Universe. 

Injun makes an impatient hum in the back of his throat, hand moving up to cup Jeno’s jaw, demanding attention. Jeno abides, kissing Injun deeply before rearing back; Injun bites on his lip, thrumming with some sort of fuzzy, nameless energy Jeno feels alive with.

“You,” Injun says simply. His head tilts to the side, studying Jeno’s face keenly, “I can see you thinking.”

Jeno furrows his brows, “You can?”

“I can.” Injun dips low for another kiss, “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

Jeno caresses Injun’s hair, tucking a couple of loose strands behind his ear. Injun leans into the touch, smiling warmly, urging Jeno to go on, “Well, it’s just–my friends have been asking about you a lot lately.”

Injun’s lips part into a small _o._ Jeno takes advantage of the lull, pulling himself up and having Injun settle on his lap, “Your friends?”

“Just two,” Jeno says, taking hold of Injun’s hands. He tries to read Injun’s thoughts, but he draws nothing from it, expression sealed with only the faintest sense of apprehension, “They’ve been bugging me about having lunch together. With you.”

“With me,” Injun echoes. He shifts, “You want me to meet your friends?”

Jeno looks down at where their hands are connected, “I didn’t think I did.”

“But?”

“You,” Jeno says. He struggles to find the words, “You mean something to me, and you matter to me. They do too. I’ve known you months now and they’ve been so excited and nosy over–over everything. As bothersome as they are, they were supportive,” he pauses, “over this.”

Injun waits.

“This. You.” Jeno blinks, “Us.” He turns away from Injun, suddenly fighting the welling pressure in his lungs, unable to piece it together. Partner, boyfriend, lover, god–Jeno can’t breathe, “Me and you.”

“Me and you.” Injun whispers, “I like that.”

Jeno holds his breath, “Will you be okay? Meeting my friends?”

“I guess,” Injun says. He kisses Jeno sweetly, “It’s just–my first time. Doing all this with someone. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do or say, and I–don’t know what to think.”

Jeno understands Injun’s reticence, understands how Injun’s brand new to all this too. 

“We could split Christmas up–dinner with my friends,” Jeno kisses Injun’s knuckles, a spark of joy burning in his heart, “And if you want, I could meet your friends too?”

Injun’s gaze shakes. He says nothing at first, but takes a deep breath, eventually breaking into a timid smile, “And you’re sure about this?”

Some nights, it’s all Jeno’s sure of, “I am.”

–

“–way, you _shut_ the–”

Jaemin slams his hands on the table, “Shut the _fuck_ up.”

Donghyuck splutters through nonsense words, and Jaemin looks like he’s about ready to eat his entire foot.

In retrospect, Jeno should’ve seriously considered having this conversation in a confined room somewhere in the Arctic. He nods apologetically to the rest of the customers, wincing at a particularly sour look an elderly lady sends their way. Usually, he wouldn’t be too disturbed by the noisy twins’ unbeatable bursts of screams, but knowing of the long conversation ahead of them–Jeno just hopes they won’t be thrown out for causing a ruckus.

“I told you, I told you, I _told_ you,” Donghyuck trills, smacking Jaemin’s thigh loudly. Jaemin doesn’t care, too busy having a mental breakdown of his own, “Didn’t I say this would happen? I did, didn’t I?”

Jaemin shrugs Donghyuck off, “If they didn’t know before, the whole world knows by now you did.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, but lets Jaemin speak without interruption, “Okay, so–let me get this straight: are you in love?”

_Love._

“No,” Jeno says. Then, “I don’t know.”

He likes Injun, of course, he knows that much. But he didn’t exactly have a yardstick to compare it to–when were feelings of love supposed to kick in? How would he know the difference?

“You’ll know when you know,” Donghyuck says, in a sonorous voice laden with wisdom. Jaemin nods in concordance, looking equally ridiculous. Donghyuck clasps his hands together, “Because, you know, you have to consider stability and commitment, blah blah–all that boring stuff, but okay, this is good, this is _good_ , we’re making progress.”

“Pro–”

“You don’t _buy_ the first wedding dress you try on,” Donghyuck snorts. “You, y’know, take a look around, look at other wedding dresses. Find one that really fits you.”

Jaemin wrinkles his nose, “I don’t know if I like that analogy.”

Jeno doesn’t follow.

“Wedding dress aside, what exactly is happening here?” Jaemin interjects, “Are just the four of us having dinner together? Or are the children invited? Does he know about the kids?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno says again.

Which has Donghyuck groaning, “Of course, he doesn’t know.” He mutters to Jaemin, “It’s like trying to talk a donkey into planning a birthday party.”

“Donkey or not,” Jaemin ignores Jeno’s heavy sigh, “this is happening. What did flower boy say? Did he mention anything about being nervous? About wanting to eat in or out? We need a plan, Jen.”

“I really don’t know.”

Donghyuck says dryly, “Do you know _anything_?”

Jeno wraps his hands around his mug of coffee, warming up slow, “We didn’t discuss it in detail, I just asked him if he was fine meeting you lot and he said yes.”

“It’s _so_ official,” Donghyuck grins. He brandishes a pen from god knows where, pulls free a napkin, and starts to scribble away, “What does he like to eat? Is he allergic to anything? Do you think it’s too soon if we have him cook?”

“Er,” Jeno blinks. “He likes hotpot, and beef stews. He has them early in the mornings, even though they’re a little heavy for breakfast–and no, he isn’t allergic to anything, I don’t think.”

Donghyuck and Jaemin trade looks, an eerie mix of bring slightly impressed and revolted condescension.

“Let’s have everyone over,” Jaemin says, pointing at the napkin. “The kids and Min’ll be a good buffer, and maybe we could do a couple of games? You know, just to get in that,” he jiggles in his seat, pink hair flopping around, “ _festive_ season.”

“You do that, and I’ll have the kids on kitchen duty,” Donghyuck says. He turns to Jeno, “Is the twenty-fifth good for Injun? Does he have family he has to visit?”

Jeno hadn’t thought of that. None of the Agents had any family to return to, so holidays were always spent in the company of one another. He fiddles with the empty brown sugar sleeve, “He hadn’t mentioned family, but he did agree to us having a lunch with his friends–since he’s meeting the bunch of you.”

“Aw,” Jaemin gushes, “It’s like one of those meet-the-in-laws Christmas movies!”

“Our child,” Donghyuck pretends to shed tears, “all grown up.”

Jeno groans, “You’re both so embarrassing.”

But he’s ignored, Donghyuck and Jaemin thrilled at the idea of planning a Christmas dinner. It’s rare enough for them to get much free time from the Agency; Jeno can’t fault them for being exorbitantly excited over gift-giving, movie-marathoning, and the mandatory interrogation session they’ll be forcing Injun through.

Jeno rests his head on the table and stares up at the cloudless sky, wondering exactly what he’s gotten himself into.

–

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Jeno is careful not to look up too quickly, slowing in his motions. Doyoung is watching him as they trek up the hill towards the metro station, his hands shoved into the pockets of his long coat wrapped around him snugly. The winds are getting worse with the heart of winter soon approaching, the cold relentless.

“Just thinking,” Jeno answers honestly.

He regrets thinking handling both Donghyuck and Jaemin fuss over Christmas dinner plans was tough; it’s at all no comparison to the fizz rising in his chest at the thought of coming clean to Doyoung. How many times had he lied to Doyoung’s face over the true identity of his neighbor? Too many to be forgiven, perhaps.

“About your Evaluation?”

Jeno can’t help it, “Yeah.”

“Aside from training,” Doyoung says, buying into Jeno’s lie. He steps off the sidewalk and crosses quickly, Jeno scurrying after him, “You need to study SSA Seo’s profile too.”

“He has a profile?”

“Every Agent has one,” Doyoung says. He sniffles, the tip of his nose turning red, “No one has access to the Mothers’ profiles, but it wouldn’t hurt to watch SSA Seo spar Agent Jung every now and then. It should give you a good grasp on his habits and flaws.”

They exhale upon entering the metro station, warmth engulfing them in a toasty hug.

Jeno considers it for a moment, “What are my flaws?”

“Should I list them alphabetically? Or by severity?”

“Really, hyung? Really?”

Doyoung’s lips twist into an amused smile, “I can crack jokes too.” Jeno thinks the majority of Agents would find that incredibly hard to believe. They head down towards Line 2, Doyoung thinking as he goes, “You’ve improved a lot since your first day here, but you could use a firmer grip on your focus.”

The sign on the electronic board reads _two minutes_.

“Mother is fast,” Doyoung says, lowering his voice when a lady brushes by them. Jeno stands a little closer, distantly wondering if they could pass of as brothers–probably. He listens to Doyoung go on, “Not quite as fast as I, but quick enough. And he’s got enough energy to last longer than I do, so keep that in mind when you’re throwing punches.”

“Stamina,” Jeno says.

“Good.” Doyoung exhales, puff of white disappearing as quickly as it’d formed, “You need to predict his moves. Watch his legs–especially his knees. One tap to your jaw and you’re at too much of a disadvantage to keep going.”

“Won’t I have armor?”

Doyoung shakes his head.

Jeno didn’t know that.

“He’ll apologize for the bruises after your Evaluation,” Doyoung says dismissively. “And if you get hurt terribly, he’ll buy you ice cream, so I’ve heard.” That does nothing to qualm Jeno’s thriving fears, “You have to be prepared for harsher Contracts; not all targets go down easy.”

The speakers overhead announce the arrival of their train, followed by a short jingle.

Jeno feels his lunch rise up to his throat. It settles by the time _Yong’s Pâtisserie_ comes into view, the yellow window panes and signboard a comforting sight. He takes a long sip of his iced coffee, determined to have his stomach soothed enough for Taeyong’s cakes.

The display, however, is uncharacteristically empty. Of a case usually filled with cakes and bread and pastries with the cutest icings, it now sits empty, the cake stands barren and its color dulled. The typical spread of red velvet, carrot, and chocolate cakes are gone. Jeno scans the set-up, noting the lack of Taeyong’s usual daily specials and the price tags to each item.

Doyoung senses his bewilderment, herds Jeno into the store. “C’mon, I’ll tell you inside.”

Like the window display, the larger case within _Yong’s Pâtisserie_ is equally abandoned. Apart from two whole cakes and a few other slices, the variety and assortment are demoralizing. Immediately, Jeno thinks Taeyong’s gotten into some sort of financial trouble, or he’s decided to pursue a different career–an absolute waste, judging by the superior quality held by all of Taeyong’s pastries.

“You look like you’ve just witnessed a murder.”

Jeno whirls around, weight in his heart alleviated when he sees Taeyong’s warm smile. Some part of him was starting to think that he’d never see Taeyong again, a piece of _home_ leaving him just like that. Despite the number of times he’s met Taeyong, it’d been so easy to bond with the older boy that Jeno didn’t think twice about getting attached to him–even with the looming threat of the Agency hanging by.

“Baby,” Taeyong chides Doyoung when Jeno doesn’t respond, recovering from the sudden influx of emotions rushing through him. Taeyong wipes his flour-dusted hands on his apron to pull Jeno into a hug, “Didn’t you tell him?”

“I was about to,” Doyoung protests.

Taeyong hugs him tightly, thin arms wringing Jeno like a gym towel, “It won’t be forever, I promise–just a couple of years.”

Jeno lets out a choked noise.

“You’re going to give him a heart attack,” Doyoung deadpans. He plucks Jeno out of Taeyong’s arms–mostly for his own benefit, really–and sets him down on one of the plastic chair, taking the seat across, “Nothing bad’s happened, Jeno, breathe.”

“There’s something oddly sweet about this,” Taeyong laughs, sinking into the seat beside Jeno. He wraps himself around Jeno, patting at his side, “Are your people supposed to be this sweet?”

Doyoung sighs, “No, actually, we’re not.”

Jeno closes his mouth, immediately hushing.

“You’re fine, Jeno,” Taeyong assures, resting his head on Jeno’s shoulder. He isn’t much bigger than Injun is. In a stern voice to Doyoung, “And you’re one to talk about being _sweet._ ”

Doyoung’s shoulders drop, hunching over the two hot chocolates in his hands, “Right.”

“What–” Jeno clears his throat, sits up straighter, “What’s going on, hyung?”

Not one to beat around the bush, Doyoung starts, “A couple of weeks ago, Taeyong got a call.” Jeno suppress his innate urge to bolt up, ready for combat at the thought of Taeyong in any sort of danger. Doyoung settles his worries with a long look, “It was from a–prestigious culinary school.”

Jeno blinks.

“I’d applied for a couple of graduate programs some months ago,” Taeyong fills in. He pulls away, but leaves his hands on Jeno’s arm, “It was a late-night spur-of-the-moment decision, and I didn’t know where my future with Doyoung was going. It was a sad attempt of an escape, I think.”

Under his breath, Doyoung mutters, “As if I would let you go.”

“Anyway,” Taeyong goes on, focused entirely on Jeno, “they called for a phone interview, and some days later they called again–I got in.”

Jeno hesitates a moment, not quite knowing what to feel. A myriad of thoughts follows, but he moves to grab onto Taeyong’s hands, shaking them gently, “Congratulations, hyung.” He pauses, “How long will you be gone?”

“At least two years.” Taeyong exhales, grin growing on his face, like he can’t contain his excitement, “And if there’s a chance for me to work there for a couple of years, it would be–I wouldn’t be able to pass it up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Doyoung take his first sip of hot chocolate. The feeling is all too clear, yet Jeno can’t help but ask, “Where will you go?”

“Paris,” Taeyong says, biting on his lip to keep from smiling any wider. The light in his eyes are dazzling, “It’s a big move, but I can’t imagine not going. We’ve already seen apartments and there’s a decent-sized one near the school–it’s in the heart of the city, absolutely amazing–you’ll have to visit us and it’ll be–”

Jeno turns to Doyoung, Taeyong’s words falling on deaf ears.

His expression is blank, but if Jeno convinces himself enough, there might just be a twinge of sadness he sees there.

“I suppose that’s what today’s for.” Jeno returns his attention to Taeyong, who simply smiles, “Not to say goodbye, no, not yet.”

Jeno speaks, and it feels like he hasn’t spoken in a thousand years, “When will you leave?”

“Taeyong’s classes start next fall,” Doyoung says. He maintains that same look of serenity, and Jeno is thankful for it; his heart is going a hundred miles per hour thinking about losing two of the five pillars in his life. “But I leave the Agency at the end of this year.”

_The end of–that’s two weeks away._

“We’re thinking of having our honeymoon there,” Taeyong says. “Maybe spend a couple of weeks touring cities, seeing the world, just some time together before life picks up again. We’ve never been on a trip together, have we, Doie?”

Jeno wouldn’t think they did. The Agency doesn’t exactly allow for holidays, especially not to personnel as important as Doyoung.

It isn’t like the job stops when the Christmas trees are up.

“I’ll get you some cakes,” Taeyong says then, a polite ruse to excuse himself. “Made a lemon-lavender white chocolate one this morning, you’ll have to tell me what you think!”

Jeno nods mutely.

When Taeyong disappears through the kitchen doors, Doyoung exhales softly. He turns the paper cup around in his hands, “Are you going to be okay?”

Jeno stays quiet, still struggling to wrap his mind around the idea of losing Doyoung’s ever-reliable presence in the Agency. Who will he report to? Who will be there to stand by him when he messes up? Who will he have to depend on?

“SSA Seo has yet to assign you a new Mentor,” Doyoung says, “but it’s in the works. They’re thinking of Agent Kim, if he passes on to being an SA.” Jeno recounts the times Rowoon’d tried to connect with him on a personal level, tried to establish a bond with him–as Jeno’s future Mentor; it made sense. Doyoung assures, “I will stay on with you until you finish Contract 30f, but the Agency has started on moving my responsibilities onto other SAs.”

Jeno takes a moment. “Will you leave the Agency completely?”

“That remains uncertain,” Doyoung says. The Agency can’t lose an asset like Kim Doyoung completely; it’d be too risky to do so, for both the company and Doyoung’s safety. “I’ll be in contact with the Paris Agency, and I will still carry my PHK on me. SSA Seo’s still discussing the range of gadgets the Agency’s planning on gifting me.”

Jeno looks to the kitchen doors, conjuring an image of Taeyong shuffling around and preparing cakes for them both. He isn’t blind to it, he knows just how love has its vines tangled snug around Doyoung and Taeyong, but leaving the _Agency_ –Jeno doesn’t know what to feel.

“Should the Seoul Agency still require my specific services, I will return whenever I’m needed,” Doyoung says. “As for being your Mentor… the Mothers have decided that the distance will prove more harmful than helpful to your growth as an Agent.”

“But you’ll still be contactable, right?” Jeno hates the weakness in his voice, “I mean–”

“I will,” Doyoung says. He reaches across the table and grabs Jeno’s hand, a rare moment of affection and vulnerability, “I’m not leaving _you_ , Jeno. I’m–surprised you would think that.”

Jeno stares at their hands. He’s no stranger to Taeyong fawning over him, touches gentle, but Doyoung hasn’t exactly been generous with any sort of endearment; especially within the Agency.

“You look like you have questions.”

Jeno tastes the sour aftertaste of coffee on the roof of his mouth, “It’s not a question exactly. I just–haven’t seriously thought of the idea of you leaving the Agency. Or anyone for the matter, not on their own will.”

Doyoung considers this. He leans back, sighing, “We’re not meant to stay in the Agency forever.” He scratches the back of his hand, serious, “At least, I don’t think I’m supposed to. Not if I want a life with Taeyong–if I don’t leave now, I doubt I’ll ever get a chance to.”

Jeno thinks of all the Agents working through Christmas and the New Years, sacrificing hours away from a family, if they’re lucky enough to have one; of SSA Seo, who’s devoted most of his life to the Agency, what did he have outside the Agency?; of Donghyuck and Jisung and Chenle, of Jaemin and Minhyung, who’re all leading lives as part of the Agency–would that make things easier?

He thinks of Injun.

A puzzle of his life away from the Agency.

Taeyong comes through at just the right time, no doubt listening to the conversation from the other side of the door. He brandishes a platter of cake slices, not unlike the assortment he’d sent Jeno home with previously.

“What will happen to the shop?” Jeno asks when Taeyong is settled back in the seat beside him, forking a small piece daintily, “Will you have to close?”

“Yes, sadly,” Taeyong sighs. “I’ve already got the paperwork and legality aspects firmed out with a property agent, but it’s still surreal–thinking I soon won’t have to come in here at the crack of dawn to prepare.” He looks around fondly, “I’ll miss it, I think.”

Jeno nods, too looking around, trying to commit the place to his memory. He hasn’t developed much of a sentimental attachment to _Yong’s Pâtisserie_ , but it’s a place of comfort, nevertheless.

“We’ll have to have our apartment rented out too,” Taeyong says.

“My Agency apartment will be returned,” Doyoung chirps, reading Jeno’s mind. He shrugs, “Doesn’t really make a difference–I haven’t been in it since moving in with hyung.”

“We decided it’ll be good to still have my place,” Taeyong says, “if and when we come back, that is.”

Jeno inhales deeply, then breathes. “Wow, I–I don’t know what to say, I mean–I’ll miss you guys,” he smiles when Taeyong coos and moves to hug him, “And I’m really happy for you both.”

“We’ll miss you too,” Taeyong says. He holds onto Jeno dearly, “It’s just the right step for us right now.”

Doyoung nods. “We’ll still be here, for the time being.”

“And there’s always Facetime and all that Internet stuff,” Taeyong says, reclaiming his status as a middle-aged lady. “You can come visit whenever you’re not busy slogging over at the Agency–you’ll pay for his ticket, won’t you, Doie?”

Taeyong sends him home with all the cake he doesn’t manage to sell. It’s a fair bit, but Jeno’s merely grateful he was able to make it home without having four boxes of beautifully made cake splattered across the sidewalk. He gifts one to Mr. Kim, who compliments Jeno on his outstanding manners, and sends Jeno the short walk to the elevators.

“Hi.”

Injun’s jaw drops at the sight of the cake boxes in his arms, “Did you rob someone?”

“Only you would assume so,” Jeno rolls his eyes. “Are you going to let me in?”

Injun takes a box from Jeno carefully, holding the door open with his foot to let Jeno through. He kisses Jeno on the cheek while Jeno toes his shoes off, shuffling into the apartment, “What’s this for?”

“My supervisor’s boyfriend made them.”

“Your supervisor?” Injun sets the cake box down, curiously peeling off the tap on the sides to lift the lid, “The same one that made the cakes from before?”

“His boyfriend–well, fiancé did.” Jeno sets the other two on the kitchen island too, at a loss of what to do with this many cakes. He could probably bring them into work tomorrow for Donghyuck and Jaemin, but he wouldn’t want to risk being asked about it, “I thought to share them with you.”

Injun looks up from studying the cakes, a wry smile dancing on his lips, “Did you now?”

“Yes.” Jeno’s chest bubbles with delight from Injun’s infectious joy, “What were you up to today?”

“Nothing much,” Injun hums. “Went to work, then spent the entire day at home alone–watching reruns.”

“You were being lazy then.” Jeno ignores the flat look Injun throws at him, lips curling to say, “I thought about you a lot today.”

He did the entire time at _Yong’s Pâtisserie._

“Hm. So did I.”

“Did you now?” Jeno parrots.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Injun forgets about the cakes, moving to latch himself onto Jeno, arms around Jeno’s neck, “Even Madam Lee was asking for you. Says the store’s doing bad without you lurking around.”

“I don’t _lurk_ ,” Jeno says. He kisses Injun’s nose, as if it were anything remotely close to a punishment, “Please tell her I’m sorry, work’s been busy lately.”

“Hm,” Injun hums. His fingers dig bluntly into Jeno’s nape, caressing the soft hairs there, “You’re always busy with work.”

“You would be busy too if you didn’t skip all of your classes.”

In the months they’ve spent together, he’s barely seen Injun leave for campus, but the boy always returned with outstanding scores. Jeno tried to remind and encourage Injun time and time again to go for his lectures and seminars, but Injun consistently made extremely good points about wanting to cuddle on the couch together and Jeno willingly lost every fight he raised.

Injun juts out his lower lip, “I’m trying to say I missed you.”

“I thought you said you saw me too much?”

“Just admit you missed me too.”

Jeno softens, “Of course I missed you.” He curls his hand over Injun’s cheek, thumb stroking the highs of it, “More and more every day we’re apart.”

Injun blinks, “Really?”

Jeno nods, stuck for words. He kisses Injun sweet, feels Injun melt in his hands. He’d miss Injun at work, during trainings, over lunch, mind racing with only the thought of seeing Injun again, of sprawling over one another on the couch, of littering kisses over Injun’s cheek, watching him squirm. How could he not?

Injun licks his lips, words a teasing lilt, “What if you never saw me again?”

Blood rushes to Jeno’s head, his hold on Injun tensing. It would be worrying, wouldn’t it, never seeing Injun again. Just how much would it hurt, if he didn’t have Injun right by his side, if he didn’t have the privilege of knowing that he could see Injun whenever, sun rise or sun set.

If Injun upped and left, would it break him?

Losing three of five of his loved ones in a single day–no training in the world could prepare him for it.

“Why wouldn’t I see you again?”

“I don’t know,” Injun says. He touches the back of Jeno’s neck, scratching lightly against it, “What if I get a job across the country after graduation and had to move?”

“I would be sad,” Jeno says. He frowns to bring the point home, “I would be really sad.”

Injun stares intently, as if he were trying to figure the meaning behind Jeno’s words, trying to decipher a hidden meaning laced between. It’s a moment later that he deems them genuine, and his own admission comes as a whispered, “I would be sad too.” He looks down at Jeno’s lips, “I have something for you.”

Jeno blinks, watches Injun bolt of their embrace to scurry out of the kitchen to disappear down the short hallway. Waiting, he looks around the kitchen; the sink has a few dirty plates in them, and the electric stove is still flashing red, a sign of recent use. Jeno looks over his shoulder, hearing Injun rummage around; he pushes up the sleeves and crosses the kitchen to clean the dishes to save Injun from doing it later.

He soaps up the sponge and gets to work, scrubbing off some sort of oily chili-paste sauce that’s stuck on the sides. He’s always told Injun to soak his dishes, but the advice rarely ever gets heed. After, he moves to clear the two bowls, the handful of wooden chopsticks and ceramic spoons.

He watches the bubbles foam.

“You didn’t have to do those.”

Jeno looks over his shoulder, “I wanted to.”

Injun’s brows pull together, hugging the potted plant close to his chest. “You’re too sweet for your own good.”

“Who else do I have to be sweet on?” Jeno grins. He nods at the tall, yellow plant in Injun’s arms, “What’s that?”

“These,” he says, approaching Jeno with the plant outstretched, “are white tulips.”

Jeno’s hands pause when Injun draws close. He inspects the petals, a subtle mix of pure white and cream, bright against the broad, basil green leave. The flowers are already in bloom, potted neatly with fresh soil in a cream-colored planter.

“They’re double early tulips.” Injun’s words make no sense to Jeno, but he marvels anyway, “We had a fresh batch of white tulips a couple of weeks ago, and I grew them–for you.”

Jeno nearly lets slip the plate in his hand, “Me?”

“Who else?”

Injun sets the plant on the counter, turning it around until it reveals a shallow inscription near the top, _Me and you._ It’s accompanied by a pretty glaze on the upper half of the pot, a shade close to natural alder.

Jeno stares at it, then at Injun’s smiling face, then at the engraving again, “You made that?”

“I wanted to gift you something.” Injun’s cheeks start to color, “For everything.”

Shoving his hands under running water, Jeno shuts the tap off and pulls Injun into a tight hug before he can dry his wet hands. Injun doesn’t seem to mind, laugh full of mirth, pressing himself close. He bites on the curve where Jeno’s neck and shoulder meet, tongue peeking out to lick him playfully. He nuzzles against Jeno’s neck, lips moving along the tender spot under Jeno’s ear.

“What’s this for?”

Injun leans back, letting Jeno support him by the waist, “Do I need a reason to baby you?”

“Is this babying?” Jeno kisses him, “What are you up to?”

Injun startles, then smiles, “What makes you think I’m up to something?”

Jeno shrugs, not quite sure himself. But he says anyway, “I read you as well as you read me.”

Injun pulls himself up, nearly clamoring over Jeno to close the space between them. It’s not unusual; Jeno quite enjoyed mornings where it seemed like Injun would never leave his side, when he’s too addled with sleep to come up with snarky quips, when he’d pull Jeno down for another promised five minutes of sleep together.

But there’s something a different about this Injun.

Jeno slides his hands down Injun’s sides, “Are you really up to something?”

“No,” Injun sighs. He tucks his face away, fingers fiddling with the edge of Jeno’s sweater, “I’ve just been thinking.”

“Thinking?”

“About you.” Injun’s breath ghosts over Jeno’s clavicle, leaving a rise of prickled skin in its wake, “About what we’re doing.”

Something alike fear fills Jeno, but he doesn’t push Injun away. A part of him doesn’t want to face Injun, suddenly gripped by the reality of everything. He doesn’t release Injun; Injun holds on just as tight, waiting for a question, an answer.

When Jeno doesn’t give one, Injun says, “You’re starting to take up a big part of my life.”

Jeno doesn’t understand. Injun’s been pulling at his heartstrings for weeks now, a puppeteer working through its puppet. Most days, he wouldn’t even think to consider a day going by without seeing Injun. Crossing the hallway to have Injun and breakfast waiting for him (or bringing them both a warm croissant from a bakery a block away); their leisurely walks into the city together, sending Injun to Xi’s and having Madam Lee gush at their sweetness when Jeno kisses Injun goodbye; begging for time to fly whenever he’s drowning in paperwork, only the thought of seeing Injun again fueling his motivation to get through the day.

Injun was nothing but a big part in Jeno’s life.

How had time manage to pass without thoughts of Injun in his mind?

He thinks of never seeing Injun again–he thinks if it would break him.

He thinks if it’s love.

Jeno treads carefully, “Is that a bad thing?”

The silence is unsettling. Injun relaxes, then clings tight, “I don’t know.”

Jeno chews on the inside of his cheek. “Is this about meeting my friends?”

“What?” Injun breaks their embrace, “What about it?”

“You seemed worried about it the last time we spoke,” Jeno says, reading Injun’s surprise. “I thought you said you wouldn’t mind to–what changed your mind?”

Injun drop his gaze, “I didn’t change my mind.” He shifts, “I was just talking to a–friend about it.”

Jeno’s mind whirs. A corner of his brain lights up; he thinks of the dirty dishes. Hadn’t Injun said he was alone? Did he really miss that? Or did he choose to ignore it? He straightens, “And?”

“And,” Injun licks his lips, reaching out to press his palms against Jeno’s chest, “Jeno.”

Injun is in fact–unreadable.

“Now you’re thinking things you don’t need to be thinking about.”

Injun’s throat works, “I don’t?”

“No.” Jeno pulls Injun from the kitchen, sets them both down on the couch. Injun immediately moves to tangle their legs together, hands in a pile on Jeno’s lap. Jeno searches Injun’s face, wishes he paid more attention in Observation Training, “I have to tell you something.”

The words slip out before Jeno can stop them.

What exactly did he think of saying? Something about the Agency? About the Contracts? About the justified murders? Killing men, taking souls like they’re nothing? It’s established, how ordinary these seemed within the Agency–the weapons, the training, the _hunt_ –but Injun knew none of these.

Injun merely studied and worked as a florist, earning a humble pay to fund his education.

How could he _accept_ Jeno for who he truly is?

Had things been so easy that Jeno’d forgotten his true identity? The reason sleepless nights were the bane of his existence, the reason nightmares plagued the nights he was granted measly hours of slumber?

Injun’s lips part, “What is it?”

Jeno is weak.

Maybe he would tell Injun after he graduated to being a Special Agent. Maybe he’d ask Doyoung of how he managed to keep Taeyong a secret from the Agency for so long, how he came to let Mother know of his betrayal to the Agency, how he managed to keep Taeyong and the purpose they’ve been made to serve.

And maybe Injun would understand.

“Jeno?”

That he wouldn’t lose half his heart in a single day. That it’s impossible for Jeno to be tangled up in these vines on his own. That there wouldn’t be a chance all of this is for naught.

He shakes his head, breaks into a smile.

This blatant will to try and figure out if the world is worth more than the way he’s taught to live it. The life he’s handed to on a silver platter, one he doesn’t have to navigate, one that could be the answer to everything.

So, _so_ , weak. Exceptionally so for one Hwang Injun,

“I love you.”

Outside, the skies are cloudless still.

Empty.

The look on Injun’s face has Jeno’s smile vanishing. His gut twists at how Injun begins to pale, like Jeno’s just said the worst possible thing–and frankly, it feels as if he has. Injun’s hands go cold in Jeno’s, clamming up. They’re snatched from Jeno’s when Injun rushes to stand, backing away, panicked. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, but he catches himself before Jeno can think to.

“You love me,” Injun chokes out. “You _love_ me?”

Jeno rises, hands out, palms forward in surrender. The rejection stings like he’s been flung and dragged across asphalt, but there’s no turning back now. He clears his throat, “Yes.”

As confused as his mind could be, Jeno knows what his heart’s screaming to admit.

Injun raises his arms, paralleling Jeno’s surrender. He shakes under Jeno’s gaze, the whites of his eyes glaring, eyes as wide as the moon above. There isn’t a doubt that he isn’t ready to hear this, isn’t ready to answer Jeno–but Jeno is weak, and he’s selfish. The afternoon was too much of a loss–despite being repeatedly told that he wasn’t being thrown away, cast aside–and Jeno really can’t–he has to let it be known.

To the ends of the world, Jeno would go.

“You’re my home.”

Injun stops, “What?”

“My–home,” Jeno struggles to keep from doubling over at the flustering words he’s mind is convincing him to admit, “Whenever I–get home to my own apartment, it feels so… empty, and ever since I’ve started to come over–it’s just–” Jeno wishes his mind would just _work_ , “I know it sounds stupid but, you’re really important to me, Jun–that’s what I’m trying to say.”

Injun stops breathing. It’s all too familiar.

 _You don’t have to tell me you don’t love me_ , Jeno’s tempted to say. He wants to reach for Injun, wants to have their hearts close, but he doesn’t need to hear those three words back to him. He doesn’t need Injun to admit it now, he just wants to let it be known.

He’s exhausted wading through the unknown.

“You don’t have to say anything. I don’t want to rush you into saying–into confessing.” The smile on Jeno’s face feels like it belongs on someone else’s. He lowers his hands, covering his torso where the fizz is starting to crawl free, “But I want you to know, Jun, that I love you. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“Jeno–”

“And this is new to me too.” He can’t stop, “It’s new and scary, and there are a ton of uncertainties I haven’t–I can’t even begin to consider, but I know enough to know that I love you.”

Jeno tears his eyes away from Injun’s shell-shocked frame. Nothing about the Agency would matter if Injun were having second thoughts. Their whirlwind of months together has been nothing but bliss, it would be unsurprising to Jeno if Injun had a change of mind, a change of heart.

“I’ll leave a box of cakes to you,” Jeno says, decides to take his leave. Tonight isn’t the time for decisions. He collects two off the counter from Injun, not expecting for Injun to see him off. When he turns back to say _good night_ , Injun is still standing by the couch, tongue-tied.

Three down.

“Good night,” he says.

–

“Seven.”

Jeno looks up from where he’s tying his white hand wraps on, readying for a session with Agent Kim in the ring. He’d spent all morning trying to study SSA Seo’s profile, digging through the Agency’s security feed to observe his mannerisms and moves. There wasn’t anything he could pick out, other than the one’s Doyoung’d already so graciously warned him of, but Jeno learns SSA Seo anyway, committing the little leaks and hints the Mother failed–whilst rarely–to hide.

Though, it was made hard to with Injun’s face stuck clear on the front of his mind.

Might as well have it printed up on a billboard and decorated with blinding neon lights.

He hadn’t seen Injun since that night. The morning after, however, the handmade planter and fresh white tulips sat on his doorstep. It was accompanied with a note on crisp cream paper, _I still want you to have these._ A small heart was doodled on the side of it, and Jeno was called in by Doyoung for one of their early morning trainings before he could allow himself to brood over whatever meaning the heart could hold.

“OFA Zhong was looking for you.”

Jeno frowns. His next Contract isn’t until the day after tomorrow. He isn’t set to meet Chenle for a gadget review until later this evening.

“Beats me,” UA Five says. His hands are dusted with chalk, “Said he needed to talk to you urgently.”

Alarms start to go off in Jeno’s head. Did something happen? Is Donghyuck okay?

Jeno’s heart can’t afford another corner chipped off.

“He’s in the Locker Room,” Five says. “Clearance has him locked out of the Training Hall.”

“Thanks,” he tells Five, taking off for the lockers at a jog.

But it’s empty when Jeno hits the button to unveil the sleek rows of lockers and metal benches. He does a preliminary sweep of the room, perturbed when he finds no trace of a single soul. With a persistent nagging in his gut, he takes a quick loop over to the UA’s Main Office. He catches Donghyuck by cubicle two, feet propped against his desk, tossing wooden pencils in a holder more than ten feet away.

Donghyuck looks up when Jeno skids to a stop beside him, “Oh?”

“You’re here,” Jeno says, questioning the questionable state of casualness his best friend emanated. What’s Donghyuck doing sitting around tossing stationary? As if they weren’t working in the center of one of the country’s most important defenses against national threats. He notices nothing wrong with Donghyuck’s appearance, he didn’t look hurt in any way. “What’s going on?”

“I should be asking you that.” Donghyuck flips a ruler in the air and it lobs perfectly in the holder, joining a handful of other pencils in the holder, “Don’t you have training?”

“I do, but Five told me Chenle was looking for me.”

That catches Donghyuck’s attention, “Chenle isn’t here–he’s on lunch break with Ji. They went to pick up some things for dinner tonight too.” He narrows his eyes at Jeno, “Why do you look so panicked?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno looks around the Main Office. He doesn’t see the younger boy anywhere, “I thought something’d happened to you.”

“I’ve been here all morning,” Donghyuck says, unbothered. He picks up another pencil and shuts one eye, aiming, “Are you sure he’s looking for you?”

“Five said so,” Jeno says. Donghyuck’s pencil drops into the holder, scoring a ten for ten. He swivels in his seat to look up at Jeno. “Where did they go for lunch?”

“Somewhere close by,” Donghyuck shrugs. He stands, stretching his arms over his head. The sound of his limbs cracking noisily makes Jeno wince, “They should be in the cafeteria if they’re back by now, I know Ji always has to have one of those sickeningly sweet slushies he loves.”

_Loves._

Jeno’s gut churns.

Donghyuck prattles on about the heap of paperwork the Agency’s assigned him while they trek their way to the cafeteria, situated in another part of the Agency’s maze. They bump into a few other Agents on the way, exchanging pleasantries. Jeno’s heart, however unlike his unruffled exterior, is jumping madly in his cage.

Something isn’t right.

“Hey, are you okay?” Donghyuck says, arm coming up to stop Jeno. He frowns, “You don’t look so good.”

Jeno nods, but says, “Chenle’s never asked for me before.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Donghyuck says. He lowers his arm, patting Jeno on the elbow, “He probably just wants to ask you to join us for dinner tonight. They’ve been complaining the house to be too empty lately.”

Jeno eases. “I don’t think that’s actually possible in your household.”

“That’s a compliment I’ll accept.”

The cafeteria is not too busy after lunch, most of the Agents having already gone back to their desks or sent out on Contracts–both Intelligence and Execution. Donghyuck spots Jisung quicker than Jeno does, already making large strides to the younger boy.

Jisung’s eyes light up at the sight of Donghyuck, “Hyung!” He scampers over, hands trying to reach for Donghyuck despite being full of drinks and snacks, “Have you eaten, hyung?”

“I have,” Donghyuck says, combing Jisung’s growing fringe out of his eyes. He tiptoes to leave a chaste kiss on Jisung’s cheek, ignoring the fact that they’re cameras filming every inch of the hall and the loud, confused _rurhg_ Jisung squawks. He notices the chocolate-covered raisins in Jisung’s hands, “Are you planning on finishing that in one go?”

“I didn’t have any sweets this morning,” Jisung says, smiling almost nervously.

Donghyuck gives him a loaded look, but waves it away for later, looking over Jisung’s shoulder, “Where’s Le?”

“Oh–he was here,” Jisung says, turning around too. Jeno fiddles with his hand wraps, sticking and unsticking where the Velcro meets. “But Agent Jung came looking for him, said there was something they needed to discuss.”

“Agent Jung,” Donghyuck repeats. He looks at Jeno this time–Agent Jung only did the bidding of SSA Seo. It meant whatever Chenle was summoned for, whatever he’d needed to speak of with Jeno, was important enough for the Agency to do something about it. Donghyuck gets this immediately, holding onto Jisung, “What happened during lunch?”

Jisung blinks, mouth full of chocolate and raisins. “Nothing, hyung. We had spaghetti and then went to buy some mushrooms for dinner tonight. And peppercorn.”

“Are you sure nothing else happened, Ji?”

“Nothing, hyung, why are you–” Jisung stops, blinking more than humanly necessary. “Oh. He did disappear for a bit at the grocer’s,” he rushes to defend, “but that’s only because he left his wallet at the restaurant!”

Donghyuck nods, “Okay, okay, Ji.”

“What’s going on?” Jisung asks, feeding off Donghyuck’s restlessness. “Is something going on? What’s–”

“Nothing, baby,” Donghyuck says quickly. He gives Jisung a charming smile, one almost on par to Jaemin’s, reaching up to caress Jisung’s cheek, “I’ll see you at home, okay?”

“But hyung–”

“I’ll explain everything later,” Donghyuck says. Jisung doesn’t budge. “I promise.”

“You promise,” Jisung accepts.

It’s not until Jisung’s out of the cafeteria that Donghyuck is speeding down towards the Training Hall, Jeno right on his heel. Off Donghyuck’s rigid back and shoulders near pressed to his ears, Jeno knows something’s wrong.

Donghyuck stops only when they’re in the bathroom, spinning around only after he’s checked the place to be empty. His face is flushed, and he speaks with words tumbling over the other, “I failed my Evaluations.”

“What?”

“Performance,” Donghyuck says. He’s breathing heavily, “I failed it. I failed it a month ago.”

Jeno gawks, “What? _What?_ ”

Donghyuck folds his arms across his chest, hugging himself, allowing Jeno to digest. Jeno shakes his head, mind too slow to put the stupid pieces together.

Donghyuck’s _leaving._

“I leave the Agency by April,” Donghyuck says. He seems to at ease with this–of course he is, he’s had a month to accept it. He licks his lips, “Wonwoo hyung’s already handing my Contracts off to next year’s UAs. I haven’t been sent out in I don’t know how long–they’ve got me on desk work.”

Jeno is silent. Then, “Why are you telling me this now?”

Evaluation results have never been something made privy. They would all know by Graduation anyway, but it wasn’t something declared to the world either. He had told Donghyuck and Jaemin of his succession in the Psychological Evaluation, and Jaemin had achieved flying grades over his Performance Evaluation.

“Chenle and Jisung.” He says it like it’s an answer Jeno should immediately understand. Donghyuck clasps his hands together tightly, knuckles turning white, “C’mon, Jen, what’s going to happen if I leave the Agency? They’ll make me leave the kids.”

Oh.

“Wonwoo hyung’s told me about dropping out of the Agency.” He inhales sharply, “That they’ll provide an Agency apartment for the next five years, and an Agency bank account until I’ve earned enough to return to a comfortable life.” Jeno struggles to catch up with Donghyuck’s words, they’re falling fast and faster from his paling lips, “But I have a month to move out of my current apartment. I’m not allowed to live with any active Agents. It’s against the Handbook.”

Jeno brings a hand to his forehead, sighs. “You haven’t told the kids.”

“How am I supposed to!” Donghyuck throws his hands up, “They depend on me, Jen, I can’t just tell them that I’ve _failed_ –that I couldn’t even–that I–and now they’ve taken Chenle, what are they–and– _you_ and Jaem–I won’t be able to see you both, I–”

“Hyuck.”

Jeno moves, embracing Donghyuck in a hug. He holds them both steady, listening for Donghyuck’s breathing to level out, heart slamming against Jeno’s chest. Jeno closes his eyes, cursing inwardly at the signs he’s missed. Donghyuck’s barely left the office in ages and he’d never thought to _ask–_ some sort of best friend he’s called himself.

He’d been so absorbed in Injun, in the stability of his own relationship, that he’d failed to see Donghyuck save his own from crumbling.

“You’re going to be alright,” Jeno says, despite his own reservations. He doesn’t care, “We’re all going to be alright. There’s not a chance we’ll leave you behind.” He holds onto the small of Donghyuck’s back, brushing against it in attempt to soothe, “We don’t even know why Le was called in.”

“Why else would he be?” Donghyuck’s voice is muffled against Jeno’s shoulder, “He must’ve been looking for you for some sort of–confirmation, or something, I don’t know.”

“We’ll be fine, Hyuck,” and this time it has more truth to it. Jeno doubts the three of them and their raucous, ever-loving family, with a bond so inexpressibly unbreakable, could be deterred by such a thing as distance. He pulls back to offer a smile, “This isn’t a reason to think the kids nor I nor Jaem would love you less.”

Donghyuck sighs, burying his face in his hands, “I should’ve passed the Evaluation. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Jeno knows the ache in Donghyuck’s heart; knows the worries that come with living a life outside the Agency, the thoughts that come with thinking through a sustainable way of living without the Agency’s help, the gnawing anxiousness that comes with the idea of losing simply everything.

But Doyoung’s words ring to Jeno’s mind, _If I don’t leave now, I doubt I’ll ever get a chance to._

“Maybe this is a good thing.”

“You’re kidding.” Donghyuck laughs miserably, “How could something like this be a good thing?”

“I don’t know, but,” Jeno says again, convincing himself, “maybe it really could.”

–

Jeno doesn’t hear from Donghyuck that night. He doesn’t hear from Chenle nor Jisung, and he’s somewhat relieved. No news meant good news, but he keeps his phone close to his pillow and PHK anyway, lest a call comes through with a request for a place to spend the night.

Across the hall, he hears nothing from apartment 502. He wonders if he’s given Injun enough time now, if the silence means the end of it all, or if he’s allowed to share the worries Donghyuck holds? If he should go over with a bouquet of flowers and take back what he said, or if he should declare his love once more, alive and rushing through his veins. If he should bake a cake and frost an _I’m sorry_ across it, or maybe a _you and me?_ , wonders if that would get Injun to speak to him again.

If it would get their wordless war to end.

Never in the past week has he thought to be grateful that he had something–someone–to worry about.

Jeno is desperate to see Injun again, but he knows time is a virtue, and so is patience.

He dozes off a little after four in the morning, finally lulled to sleep by moving clouds in the night sky.

–

Jeno feels some type of way when he meets his Handler for _Contract 30f._ It’s not Chenle, who usually greets him cheerily, despite his serious role as OFA Zhong whilst at the Agency. They’ve known for a while now that Chenle wasn’t going to stay his Handler forever, but with the recent events, Jeno can’t help feeling as if he’s been struck.

He tries not to think about this as he’s granted his PHK and the usual communication gears from Off-Field Agent Ryu; a thin Agent with copper pink hair and a bit of a lisp. He seems to be of a higher rank than Chenle, hands particularly quick with the PHK–there was a request for maintenance, and Jeno watched with silent awe at OFA Ryu’s deft work with the handgun.

OFA Ryu goes through the entry plan with him on an iPad, pointing out the necessary architectural issues he’ll have to consider.

“It’s a service apartment off Gangnam,” says OFA Ryu, tapping on the iPad and bringing a floor plan of the site up. It’s a one-bedroom place, not many walls to hide behind; Jeno’s spent hours of preparation, envisioning the apartment in his head, trying to materialize every nook and cranny.

“In and out, no data to be collected. No contact with the target.”

OFA Ryu moves swiftly, clicking the Agency-permitted tracker onto Jeno’s side, activating it with his own fingerprint, “Thank you, Seven.”

Jeno nods.

“Left now.”

Jeno turns, hands tucked comfortably in his jacket. It’s too thin for the winter, but the crunchiness of a parka makes too much noise. He grinds on his teeth to keep them from chattering, following OFA Ryu’s instructions and heading through a park. He passes a few joggers and a couple of friendly dogs that come up to sniff at his calves, to which he awards them some loving pats to the head.

It’s morbid, being kind with a handgun strapped tight to him.

“Building on the left. Two minutes to an opening.”

The apartment is a lot fancier than Jeno’s, the receptionist by the front a newer, sleeker model of Mr. Kim back home. His hair is dyed a bright blonde, tied up into a short ponytail.

Jeno feigns interest in a small boutique beside the targeted building. A small voice in his head counts down from a hundred and twenty while his eyes rake over the wooden merry-go-round music box. The tiny placards resting by each circling toy highlights the tune that comes with it.

One of a fox chasing after floating berries catches his eye.

“Thirty seconds.”

Jeno makes a mental note to do a little Google search for it later. It would make a perfect Christmas gift for Injun, cold war or not.

The reception disappears from his post, and Jeno takes the chance to enter the building, head held high. He keeps his head low, aware of the cameras placed on all corners of the ceiling. From inside his jacket, he pulls out a fake mail packet, address already pixelated by OFA Ryu.

Jeno pretends to punch in a key, and OFA Ryu is clicking away on the other end. The intercom turns green.

“Up to ten. Left most elevator.”

Jeno goes. The lift is mirror on all three sides, the door sliding shut to reveal a metallic paint. With a gloved hand he hits for the tenth floor, the yellow ring lighting up. The lift moves fast, and as much as he wants to take it all the way up to the designated floor, OFA Ryu is already in his ear again, instructing Jeno to take the stairwell up the remaining thirteen floors.

He takes them two at a time. On the eighteenth floor, he pulls on a tab sticking from the mail packet and it bursts into flames–disappearing into thin air.

No smoke, no residue, no trace.

He continues his way to the twenty-third.

“Room 2302.”

It’s on the right, Jeno is certain. He notes the keycard locks on every door. Against the palm of the Agency gloves, the microdermal sensors hum a faint blue–not unlike the ones on the grip of a PHK.

“It will open any door,” OFA Ryu had said.

Jeno stares at it briefly, impressed. Maybe these were the gadgets Chenle’d been working on, wearable technology with abilities unlike the ones the Seoul Agency coveted.

“Target is in place.”

Jeno inhales deeply through his nose, flexing his fingers and feeling the pull in his arm. This is one of the rare few times a target is within the designated kill zone. Jeno always thought it much easier to lie in wait for the target to come to him instead.

No louder than the vibration on his glove, Jeno unlocks the door with ease. He grabs onto the handle, steadily pushing down and edging the door open. The light from the hallway floods into the entryway, dark as night.

“Clear.”

OFA Ryu sounds too loud in his ear. Jeno preferred the lightness in Chenle’s voice.

His eyes take a moment to adjust after the door is shut, enshrouding him in the shadows. Off a single glance, it’s easy to see the place barely lived in. The pillows on the couch are perfectly fluffed, the television controls aligned perfectly on the glass coffee table, a small vase with a single white rose in it.

When the moonlight is finally bright enough for Jeno to move, he does a preliminary sweep. Nothing suspicious in the kitchen, behind the curtains, no signs of a trap, of any sort of explosives.

Between the living area and kitchen, a closed door resides.

It’s already cracked open. 

He raises a fist to his temple, knowing OFA Ryu to be watching, questioning the presence of his Target, questioning the decision to proceed.

“Clear, Agent. Target’s heart rate is steady–target is asleep.”

Jeno lowers his fist. He unsheathes his PHK from its holster, raising it before him, elbows slightly bent. With his left hand, he presses his palm against the door, pushing ever so gently.

The door creaks.

The bed is within sight immediately. Jeno releases the door, PHK already on the target, hidden under a thick comforter. He moves, soundless against the carpeted floors. With the large wall of window on the left of the room the only source of light, he inches towards the left side of the bed, getting close enough to verify the Target’s identity.

And it’s instant.

Jeno stops. Everything does.

The target’s hair is black, as mentioned in the profile, but everything else–his long, dark lashes and the small curve on the tip of his nose, the dip of his cupid’s bow and his thin upper lip, dry and cracked from all the times Jeno’s told him to please put on some lip balm, the top row of his teeth peeking out as he exhaled and the unmistakable mark on the back of the hand–pulling the blanket close to his chin.

At once, Jeno collapses.

His legs give out at the sight of Hwang Injun lying in an unknown bed before him, breaths deep and even. He hits the floor hard, a loud enough _thump_ that’s barely muted by the carpet. A sharp pain shoots up the side of his hip and he knows he’s not dreaming.

He can’t be.

This _can’t_ be.

OFA Ryu is watching, of course, “Sight?”

Jeno doesn’t answer. This is _not_ the target–this is Hwang Injun.

“Agent.”

Jeno scrambles to his knees, lifting the PHK ahead of him. Injun is lying in bed in front of him, there is no mistake, and Jeno is on the verge of losing his mind. There isn’t a sound voice in his mind, no vision of Doyoung’s or SSA Seo’s wise advice he can conjure to convince–to persuade–himself that he isn’t going absolutely insane. He takes another breath, deep, shuddering, wracking through his lungs and hitting every rib, trying to will some sense into himself. He closes his eyes and opens them, heart thundering when he sees that Injun is still _here_.

“Report, Agent.” OFA Ryu is relentless, “Sight?”

Jeno shakes his head, “Negative.”

He wants to say more, but he knows the line is actively monitored.

OFA Ryu is typing away on his hand, hacking into god knows what system to–yes, prove that there must be some sort of mistake. Hwang Injun is back home in apartment 502, sleeping in a bed Jeno’s slept in before, tucked under covers Jeno knows smells of lavender. There’s no reason for Injun to be here–there’s no possible explanation.

The Agency must’ve made a mistake.

OFA Ryu returns, “Disregard.”

Jeno is going to vomit. He itches to rip the transmitter from his ear, “ _Negative_. Target–the target is mistaken.”

There must be a mistake.

“Disregard, Agent.” OFA Ryu is harsh in his ear, “Agent.”

Jeno gets to his feet, refusing to listen. The PHK is still pointed at Injun–he’s overwhelmingly sure it’s Hwang Injun, it can’t be anyone else. He’s spent hours– _days–_ carving these features into his mind. He couldn’t be mistaken.

“Disregard. M command: Fire, Agent.”

Jeno doesn’t bother hiding any longer. He simply speaks, and hopes Injun doesn’t wake to the barrel of a gun pointed at the space between his eyes. Backing away from the bed, he shakes his head, “There’s been a mistake.”

“Seven.” OFA Ryu’s voice hardens, “Disregard. M command: Fire, Agent.”

“No.”

Jeno lowers his PHK, unbelieving of the body in front of him. There’s no way it could be Injun, yet impossible for it not to be. He can’t pick a side and stay on it: if it wasn’t Injun, he’d have no qualms, but if it _was–_ there was not a fraction of him that wouldn’t walk straight out the door. His legs move, arms outstretched to shake the target awake–to shake Injun awake–prove that this can’t be happening.

“Agent.” OFA Ryu, damn him, “You are not permitted to make contact.”

Jeno snatches his hand away roughly, “There’s no other way to confirm–”

“Biometrics don’t lie, Agent.” OFA Ryu tells him again, “M command: Fire, Agent.”

Jeno raises the PHK, tearing himself apart, feeling his soul ripped down the middle. Fire burns at the corners of his eyes as he rests his forefinger on the trigger, the soft hum of the PHK coming to life. Injun’s features are still relaxed, blissed and dangerously unaware of Jeno hovering over him.

He can’t risk it–he won’t.

“Agent. M command–”

_No._

Jeno snaps like a band. He deactivates the PHK and bolts for the exit, slamming the door shut as he goes. With the PHK still in his hand, he sprints desperately for the stairwell, ignoring OFA Ryu in his ear. He rips the pea-sized sticker off the shell of his ear, effectively shutting his Handler up. He shoves the transmitter into his pocket, hurrying towards the end of the hall.

Unhinged, he kicks down the locked door.

It hadn’t been locked earlier.

Jeno’s instincts are quick. The end of his PHK is pointed straight at a figure already waiting for him. Tall and plainly athletic, the tightness of some sort of Agency apparel fitted perfectly to reveal sculpted muscles and–from what Jeno can decipher–a handgun strapped the Agent’s thigh. There’s a silver, penny-sized emblem Jeno doesn’t recognize.

A lightbulb goes off in Jeno’s blackened mind; dark brown hair styled perfectly to reveal sharp features, large eyes, tall nose, and plump lips.

“Stand down, Agent.”

There’s a rope tied to the very core of Jeno’s being, pulling him close and closer to the edge with every second that passes, threatening to have him keel over. He steadies the PHK, “Get out of my way.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Seven.” The Agent stands his ground, “I am to escort you to the Agency.”

Jeno grits his teeth, “I don’t have time for this.”

He needs to _go._ He needs to check on Injun, he needs to make sure that Injun’s safe in bed–that he isn’t tangled up in this _sick_ game, in this web of lies and misdirection–that he’s still the Hwang Injun Jeno loves. There will be no regret, no second thoughts–none. He just needs to know Injun is safe.

The Agent grabs the PHK without hesitation, and Jeno lets go, attacking in return. He drives a punch into the Agent’s torso, earning a resounding grunt. His wrist, however, is locked in the Agent’s hold, and Jeno is kicking. He feels no remorse when the Agent stumbles down the first flight of stairs, uncharacteristically clumsy.

Jeno catches his breath as the Agent regains his balance, charging up the stairs three at a time. His thick brows are pulled taut–Jeno jumps onto the railings, missing the Agent’s lunge to tackle him.

He might be strong, but Jeno is quick.

The Agent commands for him to stop, but Jeno is hurtling up the stairs, chasing for an exit. His footsteps are light, hearing the Agent stomp after him. Jeno takes his lead to push free the door to floor twenty-four, but he’s seized from the back.

Jeno jams his elbow into the Agent’s ribs, exhaling sharply when he hears a loud crack and a pained groan. He twists in the Agent’s grasp, striking the Agent across the face. As much as the Handbook said about internal organizational warfare, Jeno is lit aflame by the fact that this Agent–whoever it may be–is in the way of him and freedom.

“Stay back,” Jeno warns, fists raised out in front of him. The Agent groans again, clutching onto his side as he tries to straighten up. Jeno steps back, “I mean it, Agent. There has been a mistake.”

The Agent shakes his head. “The Agency doesn’t make mistakes.”

In one swift motion, the Agent pulls free a white, plastic tube with a yellow warning label and a pointed tip. He shoves Jeno up against the wall with his left arm, the injection device is pressed firmly against his neck.

Pain.

Then, nothing.

–

“–to do that! That was a _last_ resort, your Agent had no clearance, no jurisdiction to–”

“Agent Huang Xuxi had no other choice. Seven had gone _rogue,_ there was no–”

“Gone _ro_ –pardon me, Mother, but Lee Jeno did not go _rogue_. You put him in a situation–in a twisted test, you do not have _morals–_ there was no reason–he was not going to harm–”

“I am reminding you, Special Agent Kim, of your vow to adhere to the Agency, and you will not–”

“I vowed loyalty to the Seoul Agency, _Supervisory_ Special Agent Qian. I am not obliged to operate under your instruction and I will not tolerate–”

“The Seoul Agency requested our presence. It was under our supervision that the Unofficial Agents be properly evaluated–”

“My Agent is _unconscious_! Agent Huang administered something no doctor at the Seoul Agency is familiar with and you _will_ take responsibility, Mother or not.”

–

There’s beeping.

Jeno drifts in and out.

He dreams, the first in ages.

Injun is beside him and they’re in bed. He’s in a white cotton shirt, bare legs over Jeno’s, tucked warmly under the covers. His cheek is pressed to Jeno’s chest, and Jeno feels it against his heart when Injun starts to hum, a tune he hasn’t ever heard.

Jeno tries to speak, but he can’t. He taps on Injun’s arm.

Injun looks up, confused, “What is it?”

“I can’t speak.”

His brows shoot to his hairline, “You just did.”

“Oh.” Jeno tries to stretch, every inch of his body stiff, every muscle weak, but he finds his limbs too heavy to move. He frowns, “What is happening?”

Injun shrugs. There’s a halo of white light behind him, creating a fuzzy outline Jeno winces at. Injun props himself on Jeno’s chest again, fingers dancing along Jeno’s clavicle, “Can I ask you something?”

Jeno’s throat itches, “You just did.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Injun laughs, soft. He trails his fingers along Jeno’s jaw, breath warm, “Will you answer my question or not?”

“Always,” Jeno whispers.

Injun’s gaze shakes. It drops to Jeno’s lips before flitting back to Jeno’s eyes, “Do you love me?”

The answer is immediate, “Yes.” He manages to grab hold of Injun’s hand, “Yes, I love you, but I thought–during the Contract–you were there.” Jeno’s heart rate picks up, remembering clearly Injun’s dark hair against the alabaster white pillows, “You were there. I was going to–they gave me the command to–”

“Don’t think about that.” Injun sighs, caressing every inch of Jeno’s exposed skin, sending shivers down Jeno’s backbone, “I don’t care about that.”

Jeno feels Injun hold onto his arm, the press of his dainty fingers already ingrained into his mind. It’s a tight hold, but Jeno can’t see where Injun’s hands are. He continues to feel the press along his arm, calming him enough to ask, “You don’t?”

“No.” Injun kisses him, “I care about you.”

Jeno shifts, “I was starting to think you didn’t care about me anymore.”

Injun licks his lips, “And what if I never did again?”

Jeno closes his eyes. Then opens them.

Injun’s hair is pitch black.

He closes his eyes again.

–

Jeno wakes some time later. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but his throat is still dry and the light is too bright. A nurse informs him that he’s being kept under good care in the Seoul Agency, and that he’s confined to bed rest until his vitals have stabilized. He doesn’t fight the house arrest, predominantly because he’s too weak to even roll out of bed, much less argue his way out of here.

Meals are brought to him in a plastic white tray and it’s on his second meal that he’s willing to give up eating entirely; dried-up mashed potatoes and gravy as thick as rubber is not food made for eating. Thankfully, the universe graciously pities Jeno and sends Donghyuck in with jajangmyeon and tangsuyuk and a myriad of other comfort food.

“I don’t know,” is what Donghyuck says when Jeno asks about Injun, about his last Contract. He slurps the noodles noisily, comfortable in the one-seater with his legs propped up on the edge of Jeno’s bed. With his impending resignation now out in the open, Donghyuck doesn’t hold back on slacking off, “It’s all hush-hush.”

That answer isn’t adequate. “I need to call him.”

“Can’t.”

Donghyuck’s eyes are fixated on an old rerun of Grey’s Anatomy. The dubbing is atrocious.

“I need to go home.”

“You can’t.”

“What do you mean I _can’t_?”

“It means you’re restricted from leaving this room.” Donghyuck casts him strange look, “You do realize you were injected with some weird tranquilizer thing, right?”

Jeno touches the scar on his neck. “What?”

Donghyuck hums, “Guess not. Anyway, it’s not a drug the Agency’s familiar with so you’re under strict surveillance, so, no–no leaving the room and no calling that boyfriend of yours.”

Jeno falls back against his pillows, knees bumping against the movable table. He winces, but forgoes complaining to beg Donghyuck, “At least tell me he’s safe.”

“Can’t.”

Jeno nearly tears a muscle to sit up, “Why not?”

Donghyuck sighs, “Because I don’t know, Jen. No one’s told me anything. No one tells me anything anymore.”

This answer, Jeno can’t do anything but believe.

When he’s finally on his feet, some five or so days after his eyes first opened, he’s called by Mother immediately. A nurse helps him to gear up, but it’s unmissable that his PHK is no longer in his possession. The skin-tight nylon and cotton mix feel loose against his frame, having lost a significant amount of weight simply lying in bed.

He hasn’t had a good night’s rest since he’d been forced unconscious.

The only thing he could think of was Injun.

Jeno clears his throat, hoarse from disuse, “Where should I go?”

“SSA Lee is expecting you in his office.”

Jeno bites on his tongue to keep the question from tumbling free. SSA Lee Jooheon–Mother of the Communications directorate–and not SSA Seo, the Mother Jeno’d been reporting to since the start of his UA career. He’s only seen SSA Lee in-person once; the Mother, with his sharp eyes and recognized tight-lipped smile.

Jeno’s not sure what to expect.

He’s allowed to make his way to SSA Lee’s office on his own, though a gentle warning is issued–Jeno is still under temporary suspension for ignoring his Handler’s instructions and is therefore forbidden contact with anyone until the case is officially closed. With that in mind, he ignores the pain in his thigh and hurries down the winding halls–the faster he could get this over with, the faster he’s assured Injun to be safe and sound.

For Jeno wouldn’t know what to do if there’d been another Agent sent to complete his Contract.

SSA Lee is nicer than the personality Jeno had prepared to face, standing to help Jeno onto the couch instead of one of the two leather office chairs before his desk. Jeno sits with his back straight and his hands folded politely over his lap, waiting for SSA Lee to grab a few folders from the large cherry wood desk.

The first thing he learns–SSA Lee Jooheon wastes no time on bullshit.

“You’ve failed your Performance Evaluation.”

Jeno doesn’t know what to feel. It’s almost as if–he’s happy about it. The appraisal he’s spent years working towards, the one he’s lost sleepless nights over. His heart beats as it does, and Jeno is undoubtedly sure of just why–he doesn’t care.

What he cares about is–

“The Agency will prepare for your return back to society,” SSA Lee says kindly, pulling out a range of documents from a manila folder and spreading them across the low coffee table.

Jeno spots the label on the side of it, _LEE Jeno._

No title, no specialization.

Just Lee Jeno.

The loss of it, of everything–Jeno needs time to process. 

“Undergraduate programs to Seoul University if you’re interested in furthering your education, housing options and property advice, job opportunities and career builders,” SSA Lee explains, pointing them out. “The Agency with be here to aid with the change until you need not us any longer. There will be nothing of cost to your name–the Agency will take care of it.”

Jeno supposes it’s the least they can do for having him take the lives of so many.

“I understand that Special Agent Kim Doyoung was your Mentor.” SSA Lee crosses his legs, looking at Jeno in a way that has him relaxing, “At this point of the new year, he has already left the Agency, unfortunately, but he has also left you a letter.” He slides a vanilla cream envelope towards Jeno, “Please feel free to do whatever you please with it. He was unable to visit during your days of confinement as per the Handbook, I am confident you’ve been informed?”

Jeno nods.

His heart beats, _Injun Injun Injun._

“I will be redirecting you to a Mr. Jung from our Dismissal Office. If you have further questions regarding the end of your time with us here at the Agency–from counselling services to networking events–Mr. Jung will be able to help you along.”

Jeno nods again.

“Now,” SSA Lee smiles, “do you have any questions for me?”

Jeno thinks, suddenly crushed by the loss of the Agency and everything in it.

_Will I get to say goodbye to my friends? Will I get to thank and apologize to SSA Seo for the time he invested in me? Will I ever get to step foot in the Agency again? Will I see Jaemin again? What will happen to Donghyuck? What happened to Chenle?_

Injun.

He would have to move out. Injun wouldn’t be living across from him anymore–they could be _together_.

“My apartment.”

SSA Lee nods, “Mr. Jung will–”

“No, I–” Jeno gathers his courage, “I have a neighbor–he’s a friend. If I leave–will I still–am I allowed contact?”

Comprehension dawns on SSA Lee’s face, but it doesn’t seem at all like he’s surprised by the statement. He laughs quietly, eyes never once leaving Jeno, “I was anticipating a different question.”

Jeno swallows.

SSA Lee’s smile, if possible, saddens. “Perhaps relating to the results of your Evaluation, or maybe–of your last Contract.”

Jeno blinks, “Contract 30f.”

“Yes.” SSA Lee reaches over to the phone resting in the middle of the coffee table, pushing the red button, “Please send Agent Huang in.”

Jeno stands, expecting to see the Agent that’d tackled him in the stairwell. For that reason, his palms begin to sweat as a silhouette approaches the frosted door of SSA Lee’s office. There’s a pause, then a timid knock.

“Come in.”

Jeno looks toward the ceiling once the door is opened, lips falling apart. He dares another look at Injun–Hwang Injun–standing by the threshold of SSA Lee’s office, and this time it’s for certain that it _is_ Hwang Injun. His hair is darkened as Jeno remembers it to be in Room 2302, and like Jeno, he’s clothed in Agency-wear. It looks off, yet so perfectly fitting against Injun’s petite frame.

The insignia near the hem of his jacket matches the silver one Jeno’d seen on the Agent in the stairwell.

Jeno turns away, “The Contract. The target–it was a mistake.”

“There was no mistake.” He leans forward to shuffle the papers around, then hands Jeno a black-and-white profile, “This was your target, was it not?”

Jeno looks at the profile from top to bottom, then again. On the top right corner is an ID photograph of Injun–but it’s different. Rather than his half-smile and gold frame glasses, the Injun in the picture is staring blankly into the lens of the camera, thin lips pulled down as if he were ready to strike.

It’s not Injun, but it is.

Jeno is transported back into Room 2302.

“This isn’t–” Jeno looks at the profile again, characters unreadable, “The profile I was given didn’t have an identifying image.”

“And yet you ignored Off-Field Agent Ryu’s directions, the directions from your Handler, and the Mother Command to disregard and fire.”

“This isn’t–” Jeno gestures at Injun, faith withering, weakening him. He can’t look at Injun, he really can’t. “Injun is my–I can’t _kill him–_ he’s–not a bad _person_ , I know him, we–he’s my–”

“No, Jeno, you’re right.”

SSA Lee rises, gesturing for Injun to enter the office. The door is shut and Jeno feels the walls closing in on him. He hears Injun cross the marbled floors–silent, always so _silently_ –and it has Jeno wishing he hadn’t moved to stand.

“This is Agent Huang Renjun from our sister Agency in Shanghai.”

No.

_No._

Jeno staggers forward, the room suddenly at a tilt. A pair of hands grab him from behind, tries to steady him, but Jeno recoils roughly, neck cracking with his attempt to keep Injun–Renjun–out of sight.

“He’s part of the team brought over by SSA Qian of the Shanghai Agency. They’ve been assisting us in our Final Evaluations and ensuring that–”

“I don’t understand.” Jeno channels all of his attention onto SSA Lee, for all he’s concerned with–they’re the only two living, breathing souls here, “How is this an evaluation? An assessment of my skills? How is this–”

“An Agent cannot be over-reliant on their emotions.” SSA Lee doesn’t turn irate at Jeno’s interrogation, “During your preliminary assessment, the Mothers had picked out your weakest skill–and that was vulnerability, one that might affect your performance. There were no records of your socialization outside the Agency.”

Jeno’s stomach twists, pulling his heart along with it.

SSA Lee reasons, “Should it have been introduced while you were on a real Contract, the Mothers wanted to put it to the test.”

“And I failed.”

No bullshit, “You did.”

SSA Lee walks over to his desk, brandishes a PHK. He aims it at the ceiling and fires. Jeno doesn’t flinch, but he does look to the ceiling, gaping at where a bullet hole should be.

“OFA Ryu filled them with blanks before you left,” SSA Lee reveals, setting Jeno’s PHK down. He reaches for his mug on the desk, taking a languid sip, “Agent Huang Xuxi was on patrol, and was tasked to bring you back to the Agency, a hurdle SSA Seo expected you to fly through–but in your web of emotions, you allowed yourself to be overpowered by your own sentiments.”

The burning fury coils hot in Jeno’s gut, but it’s nothing compared to the burdening sadness that strangles him dry.

He thinks of the wooden chopsticks in Injun’s home, unlike the metal ones in Jeno’s own; of the brand-new game console with an excessive variety of unopened games, in a supposed university student’s home; of Injun’s new shoes, of the odd tunes Injun’s always humming, of Injun’s skilled hands hovering over the chopping board, of Injun’s overwhelming strength when he’s pinning Jeno down, of the lightness in Injun’s steps–silent.

Jeno closes his eyes.

“OFA Chenle was removed as your Handler as he’d come into contact with Agent Renjun, and as his first reaction was to alert you of Agent Renjun’s true identity–SSA Seo had decided to make the necessary adjustments.”

He opens them, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He too will no longer be serving within the Seoul Agency.”

SSA Lee sounds apologetic, at least. Though the false sincerity must come easy as the Head of the Communications directorate, for how many Agents and employees are dismissed annually?

Jeno closes his eyes, wishes his heart would stop. The grief–it felt like he’d lost Injun. But only, it was unthinkably worse. He _did_ lose Injun, didn’t he? He no longer has Injun in the world with him, there is only an Agent Huang Renjun.

A soul Jeno knows nothing of.

“Can I–please be excused now?”

SSA Lee smiles, “Yes, of course, Jeno.”

He moves to guide Jeno out, effectively acting as a moving barrier. Out of the corner of his eyes though, he sees Injun follow along.

“You will have to return for a final debrief and whatnot–like an appreciation plaque we would like to gift you–however, your health is our utmost priority, so please rest well for now.”

Jeno is desperate for his mind to shut up. His hands are starting to tremble, “Thank you.”

“I see that Mr. Lee is here to take you home?”

Jeno is glad to see Donghyuck waiting for him by the end of the hall, a duffle bag slung across his shoulder. He’s tapping away at his phone, unaware of SSA Lee nor Jeno’s presence. He’s dressed comfortably–a thick, bright red parka and a pair of snug jeans–and no longer carrying any Agency-related identifiers; Jeno breathes at the sight, the familiarity so gratefully accepted.

“Please come in again at your earliest convenience,” SSA Lee says, patting Jeno gently on the back, “I’m positive Youngho would like to speak to you before you officially leave the family.”

Jeno nods, too tired to speak or argue.

SSA Lee bids him goodbye and Jeno bows politely until he returns to his office, leaving them both out in the hall together. He turns, ignoring the distressed gaze burning holes into the back of his head,

“Jeno, wait–”

“Hyuck,” he raises his voice, blocking all else out. Donghyuck looks up, hitching the bag higher up his shoulder and approaching Jeno to give him a hand, “Thanks for coming by.”

“My pleasure,” Donghyuck says. He smiles wryly, “Wasn’t like I was drowning with work, hey.” He holds onto Jeno’s arm to steady him, noticing that they aren’t alone. In a whisper, Donghyuck asks, “Isn’t that–”

Jeno follows Donghyuck’s line of sight. Agent Huang is watching them, hands clasped before him. His lips are parted and his brows are downturned, an expression that would have had Jeno caving in a second. His inherent senses are telling him to drop everything and run to Injun, to pull them both into an embrace so tight it’d be impossible to part.

From Injun, that is.

Donghyuck stands a little straighter, “Do you need to–”

“No.” Jeno turns away, “I don’t.”

—

Doyoung’s letter has Taeyong’s address in it and an invitation for lunch once Jeno’s all healed up. It details of Taeyong’s worry and Doyoung’s anger, and Jeno is appreciative of it. They’re preparing for their big move to Paris and Jeno’s determined to spend as much time as he can with the loving couple before they’re flying over seas to start a new season of their life.

He tucks the note back into the envelop neatly and sets it aside, spreading his palms out against his bed and sighing deeply.

The ceiling stares back at him.

Losing the first week of the new year and his position at the Agency is not how he envisioned a fresh start to enlist. It’s an almost indescribable feeling, losing everything, yet knowing there’s so much more now. Jeno glances at his new phone, one without access to any of the Agency’s database, thinking to give Donghyuck a call.

Maybe they could have dinner together.

But he decides against it, knowing that their household is equally lost for direction. With both Donghyuck and Chenle’s dismissal from the Agency, now fully effective with the business year starting up again, he can only wonder of the new changes they’ll soon have to face. Jisung would still have to serve the Agency, at least until the end of his Training Agent status, and would too have to decide if he would leave the Agency as well.

His stomach grumbles loudly, complaining of its empty state before he can consider interrupting Jaemin and Minhyung’s evening. He catches himself in that thought, inwardly berating himself for his faltering independence. How did he go from surviving through silent evenings on his own to wishing there were another soul willing to help bear the quiet?

A cat would be good company.

Jeno perks up at that. Without the Agency’s strict rules and helicopter parenting, surely adopting a fluffy pet of his own wouldn’t be too much trouble.

He sets his phone aside and pushes himself off his bed, wincing at the dull twinge sparkling across his limbs when he stands; it’s thankfully not a pain great enough to have him rethinking heating up the box of _chow mein_ Donghyuck’d so graciously picked up.

Pulling the container out of the refrigerator, he turns to set it against the counter.

His hand pauses over the lid.

There’s movement.

He’s not alone.

Jeno eyes the kitchen knife within reach on his left, and a stack of ceramic plates on the drying rack to his left.

Smoothly, Jeno peels off the lid, moving without a hitch. He sets the lid down on his left, and in one fluid motion, the chef’s knife is in his palm and he’s turned to face the intruder standing in his home. The tip of the knife is pointed right at Injun, who’s standing ten feet away with his arms lifted in surrender.

He’s still dressed in Agency-wear, which makes Jeno’s heart shrivel up again. The reminder of the afternoon’s harsh realities stirs up an unwanted curl of ire, despite the immediate inclination to forget everything and just thank the heavens Injun’s okay. He wants too badly to ignore what his mind’s telling him to do, but even his heart is doubting the path it wants to take.

Jeno says nothing, and he doesn’t lower the knife.

Injun stands, quiet. The black hair is unsettling. He raises his arms high, turning on the spot to show Jeno he’s unarmed.

And it’s no longer Injun standing before him–it’s Huang Renjun, or whoever it is the Agency’s deployed. It’s not the person Jeno’d come to depend on, the person Jeno’d learn to trust, the person Jeno’d fallen in love with.

This stranger, he did not know of.

He turns his back on Renjun, slides the knife back into the wooden holder, “Please leave.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing. Jeno ignores this, moving to fork a good enough portion onto a bowl, then placing it in the microwave. He jabs the button a little more forcefully than necessary. The rest of the _chow mein_ is kept in the refrigerator once more. Bracing himself, Jeno turns back around.

Renjun is still here.

His eyes are the widest they’ve ever been, red near the rims. The dark circles that surround it are not to be missed, neither are his sallow cheeks and cracked lips. He looks even thinner in the Agency’s uniform, edges smoothened, the lines of his silhouette a blur in Jeno’s eyes.

The tightness of the suit curves perfect around Renjun’s legs.

Jeno thinks about the first time he’d seen them bare in the hallway.

They’d barely known each other then.

Though, no.

Renjun knew who he was. He’s known all along. All the times they’ve spent together, the fabricated truths Renjun’s told him, the stories of his childhood, his dreams and aspirations. All of it concocted by some Handler in the Shanghai Agency, all of it memorized and simply regurgitated.

Jeno squeezes his eyes shut, as if it would shut the thoughts from plummeting through his mind.

“Jeno.”

It makes everything hurt, thinking of Renjun.

“Jeno, please let me explain.”

The laugh that escapes is morbid, “Save it.”

“I can explain, Jeno, it wasn’t–”

He’s been doing it all day now, trying to shut the image of Renjun out, trying to keep it from invading his heart, trying to protect the one he’s already got of Injun, the one of half-smiles and sandy brown hair. He wants nothing more to wake up, for this to be some twisted dream his mind’s capable of conjuring, not some assessment the Mothers thought he’d ever recover from.

Jeno opens his eyes.

It doesn’t work.

Renjun is still here.

Jeno opens his mouth to speak, to tell Renjun to get the hell out of his apartment, but his heart crumples in ways he’d never thought it could. He couldn’t tell Injun to leave–not after spending the past week praying for the boy himself to walk into his hospital room, to hold him by the hand and keep him company through the sleepless nights, to climb into his bed and let Jeno be calmed by the scent of lavender.

“Please just leave,” Jeno sighs. He doesn’t look at Renjun, “I don’t want to hear it.”

Renjun says it like a plea, “Jeno.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Jeno says. “Please leave.”

“ _Jeno_ ,” he begs again, enough desperation sinking into those two syllables. He starts to inch forward, hands now trying to reach for Jeno. He’s shaking when he says, “Jeno, please don’t do this, please just listen to me–”

“No.”

Renjun’s voice pierces Jeno, “Why?”

“‘ _Why’_?” Jeno echoes. He finally looks up, the anger building up to his throat at the sight of Renjun’s eyes wet with unshed tears. It doesn’t sway him, he won’t _allow_ it to, “You’re seriously asking me why I won’t listen to you?”

“I can explain everything, I can–”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Jeno starts to walk towards the door, ready to fling it open as an invitation to have Renjun please leave, but Renjun moves quick, standing in his way. His narrow frame shouldn’t be daunting, but it is. It makes Jeno stop, backing away like he’s afraid of even breathing the same air as Renjun, much less bumping into the boy.

He swallows thickly, “Please get out of my apartment.”

“No,” Renjun says. He stands a little straighter, chin tipped towards Jeno, “I want to talk.”

Jeno folds his arms across his chest, hugging himself tight. “Then talk, Injun,” and he realizes the mistake half a beat too late. It makes him scowl, “If that really is your name.”

“It is,” Renjun says immediately. He blinks away the tears, licking his lips in a way that makes Jeno want to land his fist through a drywall. “It’s how they–say it. Here. I didn’t lie about my name,” he exhales sharply, “I didn’t lie about a lot of things.”

Jeno plasters on a smile, “Good on you. Please leave.”

“Won’t you please let me explain?”

“ _No._ ” Jeno disregards the flash of hurt that Renjun quickly puts away, “No, alright? I won’t let you explain, because what you did was wrong. It was wrong and it was twisted and you _lied_ –”

“It was a Contract–”

Jeno can’t believe his ears, “I was a Contract?”

“No! Jeno, no, I–I mean you were–”

He laughs, and it makes Renjun cower, “Of course, yes, I was a Contract all along. I should’ve seen it coming, but I didn’t. I’m just the idiot at the Agency that thought for _once,_ there was something–someone I could truly love.” Dryly, “What fat luck I’ve got.”

“Don’t say that,” Renjun whispers. He wraps his arms around himself, “Don’t say that, that’s not true–I do–”

Jeno’s head snaps up, “Don’t.”

“I love you.” Renjun rushes through, not giving himself a chance to breathe, “You were my Evaluation assessment and the Contract was to infiltrate. I didn’t know I was going to end up falling in love with you, Jeno, but I did and I wanted to tell you–I swear on god, I did–and when you said you loved me, I–”

“Please just stop!” Jeno begs. He walks three feet away, needing the physical distance from Renjun. His hands are itching to grab onto Renjun and never let go, but he knows he can’t do that, “Please stop.”

Renjun doesn’t listen, “I love you.” He moves to try and take Jeno’s hand, but Jeno backs away, hitting the kitchen counter, “I wanted you to know the truth when I told you I loved you, Jeno, you have to understand, I would never–”

“No, _you_ need to understand.” Jeno feels the tears build, “I don’t want this anymore, okay? I don’t want whatever it is you’re trying to say you felt, or whatever the Agency told you to feel.”

“The Agency didn’t–”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Jeno says firmly. He pushes himself off the kitchen counter, hearing Renjun take a shuddery breath, “I don’t want anything to do with the Agency, I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Please, Jeno–please just–don’t do this.”

Jeno’s hands clench into fists, holding his breath to keep his frustration from breaking free. Why couldn’t Renjun just understand that he didn’t want to hear this–not anymore? That whatever that’s been done is irreparable, that Jeno has no intention of slogging through a broken heart any longer, that there’s no point because it was all a lie anyway.

“I don’t ever–want to see you again.”

Renjun comes to life, exasperation taking the reins, “I wasn’t pretending! I wasn’t pretending to be in love with you, Jeno, I didn’t _need_ to pretend–I fell in _love_ with you, with your bad jokes and your coiffed hair, Jeno, I love you, _please_ don’t throw us away–”

“ _I_ loved you,” Jeno hisses. A single tear betrays him, slipping down his cheek. Renjun stares at it, lips suddenly sealed tight, “You were my _home_. You filled my blanks, you filled the crack in my heart, you showed me things I never thought I’d get to see, get to _feel_.” He quietens, startling at the love amassed in his heart, “You were everything to me.”

“I am, Jeno–I want to be, I–”

Jeno presses his fingers to his temples, unable to comprehend, “What are talking–you _lied_! This entire relationship was a lie, Jun! None of it was real, there was nothing in the past months that wasn’t orchestrated by the Agency, okay?”

Renjun shakes his head, a deep shade of red starting to creep up his throat, “It was real, Jeno, trust me–”

“I can’t.” Jeno looks to the ceiling, tries to keep the rest of his tears from falling, “You don’t work at Xi’s, you don’t live across from me, and you don’t love me–it was all a lie, and the funniest thing is that you don’t–” he laughs, the situation so beyond belief that he can’t help but mock it, “You don’t understand how much it hurts, Renjun.”

“I’m sorry,” Renjun steps towards him cautiously, “I’m sorry, Jeno, but please–I can’t–lose you. I don’t want to lose you. I–I don’t know what to do anymore, I don’t know how to fix this–it was the Evaluation, but I swear on all the lives I’ve taken, I swear I–”

“Stop saying that you love me.” Jeno stalks away, Renjun following on his heel, “Stop saying you love me because you don’t.” Renjun tries to say something, but Jeno can’t stop now, “They tried to make me _kill_ you, Jun. They asked me to put a bullet through your head, they asked me to kill someone I love and I _–_ couldn’t do it.”

“Jeno–”

“You don’t even know the slightest of what that feels like, and I never want you to” Jeno says. He fixates on the potted plant of white tulips by his bedside, the one plant he’d spent the last few weeks diligently caring for. “They tried to make me kill you, then they put me down for it when I said no. They _drugged_ me, Jun. And I didn’t even care that they did! I would’ve fought SSA Seo tooth and nail to prove that you were innocent, I wanted to go back to the Agency to do it–to tell them that they’ve made a mistake–”

“Look at me, Jeno–”

“I would’ve done anything to save you, I would have risked my life to save you,” Jeno says. An empty feeling starts to wash up on the shores of his heart, hurt and anger and frustration and the feelings of betrayal subsiding away, “Then you walked in as Huang Renjun and I–I think–”

_I think I broke._

“I’m still _me,_ Jeno, I’m still–”

“You’re not.” Jeno whirls around, exhaustion sinking deep into his bones. He offers a tired smile, unperturbed by the quivering of Renjun’s lower lip, the darkness in his eyes, “You were my final Evaluation, and I failed. There’s nothing more between us than that.”

Renjun breathes out, a shallow breath, shaky.

Jeno sighs, “That’s–all I have to say to you.” He moves to stand on the other side of the bed, picking up the pot with one hand. He stares at it for a moment, the flowers wondering _Are you sure?_ “You should probably take this back. It–it doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. This doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

And he isn’t sure he’s still talking about the tulips.

“You said you _loved_ me,” Renjun says, stomping across the distance between them to stand before Jeno, only the plant separating them. His gaze never leaves Jeno’s face, “ _Please_ , Jeno, just–trust me! I didn’t lie about loving you, I didn’t lie about any of that! About how you make me feel, about how you’re my home too, I–”

“Stop, don’t–”

“I’m sorry,” Renjun whispers. He pushes the plant out of the way, and Jeno lets it topple onto the bed, soil scattering free. Jeno thinks to back away, to leave, but Renjun’s hands are on his chest, fingers digging into his sweater, “I _am_ sorry, Jeno. You have to believe me when I tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied and I’m sorry I didn’t–couldn’t–let go of the Contract, Jeno–you mean so much more to me than you know, I swear, Jeno–you’re my entire–”

“I’m sorry too.” Renjun’s clamps his mouth shut. Jeno lifts his hands, covering Renjun’s with his own. They’re small, perfect in Jeno’s hold, “But I can’t.”

Renjun inhales sharply, “What?”

“I can’t–do this.” Jeno peels Renjun’s hands free, “I don’t want to deal with this, and I won’t. Whatever you say now, Renjun, I’m sorry but I can’t accept it.”

“Don’t.” Renjun pushes forward and Jeno lets himself stagger back, the bump of the wall against his head failing to break him free of this nightmare. Renjun ducks away, forehead pressed to Jeno’s collar, “Don’t let go.”

“Renjun–”

“You love me.” Renjun is crying now, no longer holding onto his bearings, “You said it yourself, you said you loved me.”

 _I still do,_ Jeno wants to say. Of course, he still loved Injun– _Renjun_. With his whole heart he did, there’s no possible way he could think of Renjun as anything else. But it was just–too much. It would simply be easier on them both if they never saw each other again.

He would rather this than have Renjun suffer through a broken relationship filled with doubt and pain.

What they have is just too broken to be fixed.

“I’m sorry.”

Renjun is struck by that, clutching tight onto Jeno’s sweater, tears seeping through it steadily. Jeno closes his eyes and lets himself be soother by lavender for the last time, wrapping his arms around Renjun and hugging him tight.

“Please don’t tell me this is it,” Renjun whispers, “Jeno, please, _forgive_ me.”

“For the longest time,” Jeno says, starting to reminisce, “You were the only thing I could think of.”

“ _Please_ –”

“Every step, every breath, every thought was you.” Jeno laughs, committing the form of Renjun’s silhouette into memory, burning it into his skin, “I wondered why you felt so much like home; why you reacted the way I expected you to, why you always had the right things to say, why you felt so–right to be with. You _knew_ me, you studied me–that’s why you were so much like home. I should have known it was too good to be true.”

“No, _no_ ,” Renjun chokes, fights for breath. He pushes himself off to look Jeno in the eyes, cheeks wet with streaks of fresh tears, “No, I didn’t pretend–I got to know you because it was _you_ , Jeno, the Agency told me nothing–they only told me you were the target–”

“I thought I’d done something right,” Jeno says, defeated by the misery coursing through his veins. Renjun blinks free another pair of tears, “I thought you liked me for who I am, but I just–assumed. And I’m sorry that I did.”

“No–”

“I’m sorry.”

“I _love_ you.” Renjun cries, “Believe me, please don’t make me leave, please–”

Jeno closes his eyes, and truly he does mean it when he says,

“I’m sorry.”


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

“Yes, yes, _yes,_ hyung–I’m drinking plenty of water.”

Jeno ignores the odd looks he gets from a passerby, rolling his eyes at the nagging tone of Taeyong’s shrill voice reverberating through the speaker. He’s going on about the rising temperatures in Seoul this hot summer, calling specifically to remind Jeno that dehydration is a serious, _serious_ danger.

“I know, hyung, and, yes–I did have a glass this morning,” Jeno says, trying not to sigh.

He appreciated Taeyong’s love and kindness, he truly did, and he didn’t want to take up any more of Taeyong’s time, seeing as he already does quite a significant amount. Doyoung complains about it over text every now and then, which makes Jeno both triumphant and fearful of when they return.

“Let me speak to him,” he hears Doyoung say.

“You didn’t even want to call him–”

“I only said that because it’s _three_ in the morning, babe.”

Jeno snickers, knowing exactly the deadpan expression Doyoung would have. He looks both ways before crossing the street, listening to the married couple bicker from a thousand miles away in their small apartment in the heart of Paris.

“You have class soon,” Doyoung’s voice grows louder. He’s gotten hold of the phone now, “Go get ready.”

“Fine,” Taeyong groans. “But tell him I miss him.”

Doyoung makes a disapproving hum, but Taeyong’s voice doesn’t return, leaving only the cool tone of Doyoung’s. He sighs, and Jeno hears the sound of footsteps and a door being slid open.

“You’re like the child we never had, you know?”

Jeno laughs, hopping up onto the sidewalk, “I know. You’re welcome.” He grins as if Doyoung were back, walking by his side with his long legs and lengthy strides, “How have you been?”

“Good,” Doyoung says. The familiarity of it takes Jeno back to the training hall, but he’s snapped back to the sidewalk when Doyoung goes on, “Sans the insane hours his classes are at, Taeyong is doing well too. And the Paris Agency hasn’t contacted me either, so I assume my services aren’t as coveted as Youngho hyung made them out to be.”

“You never know,” Jeno says. He turns left at the corner, “Have you gotten a job?”

“No.” Doyoung sounds introspective, “Though, it’s not as if I’m earnestly looking for one.”

With the Agency’s dismissal plan, Doyoung didn’t exactly _need_ to work. There was enough in his bank account for him to retire early, should he want to.

“How are _you_?” Doyoung asks, “Have you gotten used to the apartment yet?”

Before their big move across the world, Taeyong had offered his two-bedroom apartment to Jeno. It was a smart decision, seeing Jeno no longer had the privilege of staying within the Agency-protected building–nor did he want to–and Taeyong had prior intentions of renting the place out. Jeno’d tried to suggest that he pay _some_ amount for staying, but Taeyong refused his money, allowing Jeno to stay rent-free for the time they’re over in Paris.

It was difficult, receiving the place for free, but Jeno’d seen the flash in Taeyong’s eyes and decided to say nothing more on monetary matters.

He had to learn a new bus route into the city and familiarize himself with the new neighborhood’s surroundings, but he finds it better than the one he used to live in. It was quieter than the bustling city and there were Taeyong’s friendly neighbors who seemed to find Jeno a pleasant young boy they enjoyed caring for. He occasionally gets homemade food from Mrs. Oh two apartments down and cut fruits from Mrs. Shin from apartment 6J, which Jeno is ever grateful for.

They remind him a little of Mr. Kim.

Jeno never thought he’d miss the doting security guard.

“It’s been good,” Jeno says now. He pockets his hand, picking at the lint there, “It’s a little big for just–me.”

Doyoung hums, “I suppose it’s different from your old studio.”

Jeno nods, forgetting Doyoung can’t see him.

“What about your plans of getting a cat?” The disdain is clear in Doyoung’s voice, which makes Jeno smile. He sighs, “Ever since you’d brought it up, Taeyong’s been obsessed over the idea of us getting one too–thank you for that.”

Jeno laughs, stepping into a café. He orders an iced coffee and moves over to the side, “I have an appointment with the adoption center today. It’s a four-year-old white ragdoll.” He clarifies, “The cat breed.”

Doyoung sniffs, “And you have to make an appointment?”

“Just to see if we’re–compatible.”

“You sound nervous.”

Jeno stifles his amusement, “You can tell.”

“If you haven’t so quickly forgotten,” Doyoung snorts, “I _was_ your Mentor.”

Jeno blinks, surfacing the memory of Doyoung in skin-tight Lycra and a glint of silver in his hand. He’d been so used to seeing Doyoung outside of the Agency–in oversized sweaters and definite mom jeans–that it’d so efficiently replaced Agent SA Kim with a warmer, kinder Kim Doyoung.

“I remember,” Jeno says. He exits the café, taking a long sip, “I’m going back to the Agency today. Just to return my ID badge now that I’ve completed all the mandatory sessions.”

“Counselling?”

Jeno nods, then says, “Yeah.”

“And you’re doing okay?”

Jeno thinks about that. _Okay_ is subjective. He’s better than he’d been five months ago, but he wouldn’t consider himself as functioning as the next non-Agent he passes on the street. It’d been harrowing, the journey of relinquishing his reliance on the Agency and the life he was taught to work for. Physiotherapy had been considerably unchallenging, as compared to the rewiring of his mental frameworks.

Nevertheless, he slept a little better now and ate more than just _chow mein_ , to Donghyuck’s greatest excitement. He didn’t spend all day in bed–though there were bad days plagued with nightmares that had him rendered useless–and did his best to meet Donghyuck and Jaemin whenever they called him to.

Donghyuck, after completing the mandatory counselling, has gone on to take up a large variety of classes; cooking lessons, guitar and piano lessons, knitting lessons. He wanted to explore the rest of his skillset, wanted to be more than just a sharp shooter. And it turns out that there really isn’t anything Donghyuck _can’t_ do, and Jeno concedes defeat–admitting that Donghyuck really has proved himself the best out of them both.

Chenle has went on to pursue culinary arts, and Jisung is finishing up his final year as a Training Agent. They’ve moved out into a double-story townhouse with red bricked walls and white finishing, encapsulating their endless love and joy in that humble home near the outskirts of the city center. Jeno visits every Saturday evening for their weekly dinner, intrusion approved and greatly welcomed.

Jaemin, on the other hand, managed to sail through all three components of his Evaluations, officially attaining the title–Official Agent NA Jaemin, Agent NA JM. He’d revealed over a late-night dinner with Donghyuck and Jeno that the Agency had Minhyung captured for his Performance Evaluation. He was then given an ultimatum, a test of his morality, to save Minhyung or a room full of victims.

“That’s sick,” Donghyuck had muttered.

Jeno agreed. “But what did you do?”

“I saved the victims.” Jaemin drank from his beer steadily. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hands, deadened by the memory, “I rushed back for Min, but he was bound and strapped to a chair. They kicked him off the side of the building.”

Donghyuck retched, shuddering at the thought.

“I saw him fall,” Jaemin said. He looked to the ceiling, “He shook his head and I’ll–never get the look in his eyes out of my head. For weeks after, it was the only thing I could see, and it haunted me. His mouth was taped shut, but I knew–I _knew_ he was smiling. It was like he was saying, ‘It’s okay’ and it felt like I–like I died.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeno whispered.

Donghyuck moved to hug Jaemin, hiding his tear-stained cheeks.

“Then I jumped too. I didn’t even think about the ground, I just–” Jaemin closed his eyes, pained by the memory, “I looped a wire around a pillar and jumped. I didn’t even secure it; I didn’t know if it would hold, there was no time. I just jumped.”

The beef on their hotplate sizzled.

“I managed to grab on to him and swing us into a lower floor.” Jaemin swallowed, “And I apologized and cried and I couldn’t leave him, not even after SSA Seo came by to– _congratulate_ me. I couldn’t think about anything else, and Min just–just hugged me and–he–he said he would’ve understood, that the Agency would’ve caught him somehow– and I don’t know _how_ , but he believes it. It doesn’t even matter, because I–I still–” Jaemin laughed, the self-loathing alarmingly apparent, “I let him fall.”

They had to call Minhyung after that. Jaemin refused to move and Donghyuck’d started to cry, and Jeno had to explain the situation when Minhyung arrived, hair up in all angles, ties loosened. He’d taken Jaemin into his arms and thanked Jeno, calling an Uber for them to share home.

Jaemin never stopped crying and Jeno was glad he was the first one to alight.

He couldn’t bear hearing Jaemin apologize over and over, begging for forgiveness.

 _No_.

Though, Jaemin is better now, Jeno thinks. He sees both Jaemin and Minhyung at Donghyuck’s weekly dinners, and they’re still as loving as ever. He doesn’t see that anything’s changed, but there were times Minhyung left–to get a glass of water, to go to the bathroom–and Jeno couldn’t ignore the panic in Jaemin’s eyes. He would worry, watching Jaemin pick incessantly at the seams of whatever cushion hugged to his chest; and he thinks to say something about it, but the frenzied gaze in his eyes disappears whenever Minhyung returns, often with a charming smile that makes Jaemin grin.

And Jeno.

Jeno is okay. They’re all okay, it’s not the end of the world yet and they’re still here and _okay._

“I’m alright,” he says finally. The Agency’s building comes into view then, tall and daunting, “Are you?”

“I am,” Doyoung sighs. It’s one of pleasant relief, “It’s the best decision I’ve made, though I wish there wasn’t so much ocean between us. It makes it hard for Taeyong and I to check up on you.”

 _You don’t have to_ , Jeno wants to reassure, but he knows old habits die hard.

After his conversation with SSA Lee, Doyoung had sought Jeno for a dinner with just them two. He revealed to know nothing about Jeno’s Performance Evaluation, and was inclined to believe that SSA Seo kept it specifically from Doyoung, knowing how increasingly protective Doyoung was over Jeno at the Agency. He had been apologetic, having not protected Jeno from the twisted hands of the Evaluation, but there was nothing neither of them could do now.

“I don’t blame you,” Jeno had said firmly. Doyoung looked up, frown seemingly perpetual on his lips, “Not even a single bit, hyung. It was my Evaluation, and I failed it. If anything, I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

“You didn’t,” Doyoung said. He chewed through a spoonful of vegetable stew, “You didn’t disappoint me at all.”

Jeno had breathed a sigh. One of relief.

“I’ll come visit soon,” Jeno promises. He’d been looking at flight tickets and Taeyong _has_ been hinting that their couch isn’t too bad a bed, “Maybe after I’ve settled down with Taean.”

“Taean?” Doyoung sighs loudly, “You’ve already named the cat, haven’t you?”

Jeno grins, “Yes.” He makes a mental note to send Taeyong a picture of the majestic, fluffy beast, “She’s beautiful.”

“I’m sure she is,” Doyoung says, the mockery in his voice missing malice. He yawns, “Are you almost at the Agency?”

“Yes,” Jeno feels that familiar fizz arise at the building’s formid.

“Well, alright,” Doyoung clicks his tongue. “Taeyong and I are going to grab some breakfast before his godforsaken three-in-the-morning bread classes, I don’t even _know_ –anyway, keep in touch, okay?”

A warmth bubbles in his chest. He remembers feeling like this in Doyoung’s office. He looks up to the sky, comforted at the thought of Doyoung looking at it too.

“Okay,” Jeno promises.

He hangs up after saying goodbye to Taeyong too, already looking forward to the next call they’ll share. He tucks his phone away and enters the building, nodding once at the receptionist by the front desk. The two lifts hidden behind the main atrium are a sight that makes his toes curl, and Jeno is glad that he won’t ever have to seem the again in the foreseeable future. He speeds through the Labyrinth and is welcomed by the bulletproof glass doors.

“Good afternoon.”

Jeno nods. He brandishes his Agency ID badge–a genuine ID card had been issued to him last week–and hands it to the receptionist. She scans it under the desk, a different _beep_ sounding. She presents him a form, stating that he no longer owns any Agency-related possessions, other than a metal pin that still commemorates his time served.

It also acts as an identifying artifact, should Jeno ever need to return to the Agency in the case of an emergency.

“Mr. Jung will still be available,” the receptionist informs him, “should you require his services with your dismissal. He will be your contact point if there are any further questions regarding your return and assimilation to society.” Jeno signs the form, relief breaking into his shoulders, “Do you have any questions?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Thank you and goodbye, Mr. Lee.”

Jeno thanks her again and collects his cup, the walk back out into the Labyrinth absolutely freeing. He glances at the white tiles, feeling oddly reminisce about all those times he’d been greeted by it after a Contract. How odd that the plainness of it could feel so welcoming, so much like home–

“Oh.”

Has the Labyrinth ever been this warm?

Jeno turns, the drink in his hand the only thing tying him to Earth.

There Renjun stands, close enough for Jeno to stop breathing.

“Jeno.”

It’s a whisper, amplified in the Labyrinth. He’s in a black shirt and dark jeans, hair shorter and lighter than the last time Jeno’d seen him. There’s that same tinge of darkness in his eyes, and the curve of his bottom lip is still chapped.

Bitten.

Jeno averts his eyes, clears his throat. “Hey.”

There’s this buzzing energy coming off of Renjun that he can’t pick apart, “How–how are you?”

“Good,” Jeno answers immediately. His heart is starting to swell, and the mere presence of Renjun has his eyes burning hot. He fiddles with the straw of his drink, Renjun watching the movement, “And you?”

“I–I’ve been better.”

Jeno nods, trying not to delve into much into that, “I just–came by to return my badge.” He smiles, a botched attempt at lightening the mood, “Y’know, failed agent and all that.”

“I did too.” Renjun doesn’t blink, “I just–returned my PHK.”

Jeno stops.

All at once, Renjun is approaching him, renewed by some confidence he hadn’t seen the last time they spoke–the last time Jeno held Renjun until there were no tears left to shed. Renjun wrings his hands together, knuckles bone white,

“Do you–have some time?”

 _No, no, no_.

Jeno should say no. He should claim to be busy, to be uninterested in hearing whatever Renjun has to say. He should walk away, leave the life at the Agency–Renjun included–dusted behind him. This is his chance. This is the opportunity he should be clamoring for, the final snip to whatever web he’s tangled himself in.

But Jeno.

Jeno is weak.

He has always been weak.

“I do,” he says.

Renjun’s eyes widen.

In them, Jeno sees the stars. He smiles, shrugging, “I recall owing you a drink.”

“You do,” Renjun says. He licks his lips, “You do.”

He buys Renjun a lemonade, but the place is packed to the point of a war for oxygen, so Jeno suggests the park across the street. Renjun nods mutely, following half-a-step behind Jeno, focused on sipping his lemonade through a neon yellow straw. Jeno doesn’t mind the silence, leading them to a bench by the quieter end of the park.

He sits, and so does Renjun, placing a good distance between them.

It’s good, distance.

The wind blows, the clouds move.

He knows why they’re both here, the words they have to exchange, but Jeno hopes. He hopes and hopes and hopes. What he hopes for, he doesn’t know.

Renjun fidgets, “Are you doing anything later?”

“Yeah.” Jeno has a morbid sense of humor, “I’ve got a date.”

The plastic cup in Renjun’s hand crackles nosily. Jeno startles at the sharpness of it, at the paleness of Renjun’s skin.

“I meant–I have an appointment. To see a cat at an adoption agency.” He tries to laugh, “She–she’s my date.”

Renjun closes his eyes, “That’s not–that’s not funny.”

“You’re right.” Jeno quietens, “I’m sorry.”

Renjun looks up, “I left the Agency.”

Jeno watches a gust of wind sweep up a scatter of leaves. A jogger with a dog runs by, and when they pass, Jeno nods, “I see.”

“I handed in my resignation a month ago,” Renjun goes on. He places the lemonade between them, busying hands instead with the rips on his jeans. Jeno watches his slim fingers pick at the frays, “I realized it wasn’t the life I wanted.”

The answer to it, Jeno fears, “What do you want?”

But Renjun says, softer than a blink, “You.”

Jeno’s heart drops. Where does it go, he doesn’t know. The honesty, it’s new.

“I want–I want life with you.” Renjun yanks on a fray, fingers trembling, trying to hold onto it, “Waking up to you, cooking with you, being with you. That’s what–that’s what I want.”

Jeno’s mind numbs.

“I was going to go to your place,” Renjun says, “After I had everything sorted with the Agency, I wanted to find you–but you–at 501–”

“I’ve moved,” Jeno says. It sounds like he’s being strangled. He picks at the lid of his drink, “Will you be–staying? Here?”

_In Seoul?_

“I don’t know.” Renjun brings his knees up to his chest, “I don’t know–but I–I want to stay.”

“Why?”

Renjun whispers, “You.”

Jeno thinks. The drink in his hand is mostly melted ice now. He sets it down beside Renjun’s lemonade, the contrast of yellow and murky brown almost jarring. His mind starts to whir, the recited spiel from all those counselling sessions coming to life, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Oh.”

If every day has its own worries, this is today’s–as much as Jeno’s convinced himself he’ll never have to deal with it again, here it is. There’s only so long he can avoid it, so long he can lie to himself, so long he can pretend there isn’t a Renjun-sized shape in his stupid heart that refuses to heal.

He needs closure and he needs it now.

“Whatever happens, whatever you’re saying, I can’t–I can’t trust it. And I’m sorry, I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

Renjun’s legs hits the ground, “Jeno, please, _please_ , the past few months–it’s been the worst I’ve ever–I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, Jeno, I still want us to–”

“I believe you.”

It’s Renjun’s turn to stop.

“I don’t–know,” Jeno breathes deeply, “if I can trust you again, but I believe you.”

“You–” Renjun pauses, “You what?”

“I believe you.” Jeno leans back against the bench, Renjun’s gaze burning into the side of his face, “Even if you lied to me, even if everything is telling me not to trust you, even if you don’t mean it when you say you love me–I’ll believe it. Even if it makes me stupid. Even if it means I’m weak at the game.”

Renjun is frozen to the seat.

“I think about you,” Jeno admits. He hadn’t admitted that aloud, not even in the sleepless nights he’s had to talk himself to relax, to talk himself out of spiraling with his thoughts. “Every day, every night. I think about you. About your smile, about how you roll your eyes at everything you say, about how you reach for me when we’re in crowds, about how you sleep so soundly next to me.”

“I think about how you were happy; I think about whether or not it was real. I think about that last night,” Jeno wills the pain away, “I think about whether or not it was real–when you said you loved me. I think about whether or not I’m doing the right thing, whether or not I’m making a mistake. I think of you, every day, I think of you and I miss you.”

“And I think,” Jeno says, staring at the sky. “I think I don’t care, if it’s a mistake. If loving you is a mistake, then it’s one I want to make. I don’t care if the lies and evil are devoted into convincing me that choosing you was a mistake, because–because I know it’s not. I made that choice when I decided to go against the Agency–I chose you, Jun.”

“And I really am–sorry.”

One of the clouds resembles a flower, or maybe it’s Jeno’s mind playing tricks on him, “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that I did choose you. I did tell you I loved you, and I do. I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I blamed you. It wasn’t your fault–it wasn’t your fault at all.”

He takes a deep breath, drinking in the words now floating between them. Eventually, he caves and looks at Renjun, stoned silent; the only movement on him are the tears rolling down his cheeks, clinging at the curve of his chin and dripping steadily over their drinks.

Jeno leans on his side, already on the brink of losing all restraint. He reaches for Renjun’s hand, still clenched tightly atop his lap. Renjun inhales sharply, looking at their hands like he can’t believe it to be real; the touch is electric, life coursing through them.

Jeno smiles sadly, “Please tell me you still love me, Renjun.” He prays, wishes, hopes, “Because I–I never stopped loving you.”

And Renjun cries. He stands only when Jeno coaxes him to come close, standing on shaky legs to fall into Jeno’s arms, knees digging into Jeno’s sides. He says nothing still, hiccupping through breaths and holding Jeno’s hand to his lips.

“I love you,” Jeno whispers. He blinks, lets his own tears fall, “So, no–I don’t have a date, and I’m not interested–not even remotely–to anyone else. I can’t be, when all I think about is you. My heart and mind’s full of you, it’s always been.” He hugs Renjun tight, melting at the same scent of lavender, “And I–I thought about seeing you again. I thought about what I would say to you, and I thought I would want to be mean, that I would never forgive you, but then I just stopped caring about the Evaluation, about the lies. I don’t care anymore. I just want you.”

“Whatever you bring with you, whoever you are, I want it.”

Renjun digs his hands into Jeno’s arm, a painful grip Jeno’s willing to bear. He ducks his head low, speaks into Jeno’s chest, wetting it with tears and snot, “I don’t deserve you.”

Jeno laughs, “You deserve more than me. You deserve the world.”

Renjun whines, tips of his ears red with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” Jeno says. He kisses Renjun’s crown, “I should’ve understood–the situation you were in. I was just–completely blindsided. I–it felt like I didn’t know you at all, it felt like you–took the boy I loved away. I was angry at you and I shouldn’t have been.”

“You love me,” Renjun sniffs loudly, curling himself closer, “The one you love is me.”

Jeno breathes Renjun in, “Yeah. The one I love–the one I love is you.”

When their time on the bench expires and treads close to overstaying their welcome in the park, Renjun stands and Jeno takes his offered hand. Their hands are tangled, a perfect fit, made for the other. The silence is comforting, more so than any night Jeno’s ever spent alone. Renjun squeezes his hand, and Jeno breaks free from his state of nostalgia.

“What do we do now?”

Instantly, Jeno’s full of answers. They could move in together, find their own place. They could elope to a different country, start life anew. They could take another lap around the park, simply bask in the presence of one another.

Though, none of those answers seemed to befit the hidden question in Renjun’s words; the one Jeno reads off the anxiousness in Renjun’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” Jeno answers honestly. He takes Renjun’s other hand, holding on tight, “What do you want to do?”

Renjun shakes his head, “I just–want to be with you.”

Jeno can’t stifle the grin bubbling to his lips, “I do too.”

“But I–” Renjun starts to say, overwhelmed by something Jeno doesn’t understand. He nods, encouraging Renjun to say, “I want to meet your friends. Truly, I do.” He goes on, “I want to–make things right. I want to be with you and I want to be in your life. I want to be here. With you.”

Jeno has no answer to that. Ever since their dismissal from the Agency, neither Donghyuck nor Jaemin’d uttered a word of Renjun’s existence; not even to curse Renjun to hell for the wreckage he’d made Jeno to be, or the fumble of their relationship. At the back of his mind, there was always a small voice that told Jeno it might’ve been because they _knew_ it wasn’t Renjun’s doing–it was purely the Agency’s.

They simply thought it best to leave Jeno to figure that out on his own.

“I think,” Jeno hums. He swings their hands, a renewed excitement for the future starting to grow in him. “I think they would like that too.” Renjun smiles, small and still unsure, “We can go over to Hyuck’s together–they were so excited to meet you before, I’m sure they’ll be nothing but a _joy_ when they interrogate you for the first time.”

“That sounds very much like a threat.” Renjun bites on his lips, “Should I be afraid?”

“Yes,” Jeno hums, “and no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve known them since I was a trainee and I still have no idea what they’ve both got up their sleeves.”

Renjun’s brows pull together, “They’re going to want to dunk me into the bathroom, aren’t they?”

“They’re not going to–” Jeno laughs, barely apologetic when Renjun’s frown deepens, “I doubt they’ll do anything to you, Jun.”

“You sound confident.”

“I am,” Jeno says. His lips twist, “They know how much you mean to me.”

Renjun’s cheeks color a cherry red. He tries to turn away, but Jeno holds him steady, refusing to let him hide even a sliver of his embarrassment. Renjun struggles, but Jeno knows better now–there’s no way Renjun couldn’t break free from his grasp, not as an Agent; he relishes at the thought of Renjun wanting to stick close.

Renjun looks away, “You’re–underestimating what I deserve for the things I’ve done.”

“And I don’t deserve you for the things _I’ve_ done.”

“Jeno–”

“It doesn’t matter anyway, whatever they intend on doing to you.”

Renjun puts a halt to his pretense of a weak struggle, “What?”

Jeno tilts his head, wonders how he’d survived a day without Renjun’s hands in his, “I’ll protect you.”

Renjun’s lips part, surprise obvious. He’s hold on Jeno tightens, and it’s like Jeno can hear Renjun’s heart racing in his own chest. Renjun’s eyes flutter, a myriad of expressions crossing his features at once. Jeno moves to cup Renjun’s cheek, reaches to try and read the thoughts in Renjun’s mind, touches to feel Renjun’s emotions against his palm.

Jeno searches his face, “What is it?”

Renjun blinks, eyes glazing over. He swallows thickly, licks his lips.

And Jeno doesn’t need to ask again.

He kisses Renjun, ignoring the fact that the crosswalk turns green for them the moment he does. It’s words concealed between kisses, something behind each one, long and languid, plush lips against his.

Jeno doesn’t anticipate Renjun to taste the same, but he does _feel_ the same, whatever that should mean. The way Renjun doesn’t hold back, pressing himself close and shaking Jeno’s hands off to curl his arms around Jeno’s neck; the way his chest is flush against Jeno’s, hearts pounding in time; the way he pushes himself up onto his toes, taking whatever Jeno’s willing to give.

“Thank you,” Jeno murmurs.

_For coming back, for forgiving me, for loving me again._

Renjun’s kisses stutter, and he says something that Jeno doesn’t catch, but it’s all in the wind again when Renjun pushes forward, almost hard enough for them both to tumble over. Jeno stops them before they both do roll onto oncoming traffic, pulling them apart to really look at Renjun.

They’re back in the cramped lift. Renjun has a leaf between his lips and Jeno wonders if he needs help with that box of his.

And there it is.

Renjun is still sweet and friendly and kind and different.

Renjun is different.

Jeno might not have the facts, he might not have the evidence, he might not have proof–but he doesn’t care. He believes in it, and that’s all that matters for now. This is today’s worry, and he will deal with the rest of his worries when the time comes.

There are always worries for today and worries for tomorrow–all he needs to do is just take them a day at a time.

Renjun is here. And so is he.

“I love you,” Renjun says. He holds on to Jeno’s face, squeezes like he always does, “I love you.”

“And I've–never stopped loving you.” Jeno covers Renjun's hand with his own, "This is only the beginning. Our beginning."

Renjun smiles, puncturing Jeno's heart without a single breath. He kisses Jeno again, avid exhilaration dancing on his lips, melting into Jeno's touch, skin ablaze.

And Jeno–

Jeno would ask for nothing more.

Today, the sky is bright and blue and filled with clouds. 

_Love was made for me and you._

**Fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and thank you Admin Tea for the handholding.
> 
> Merry Christmas! 
> 
> x


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